


Parts of Everything

by ChasingRabbits



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (rape not between steve and bucky), Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Avengers friends, Because of Reasons, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky is not okay, Childhood Friends, Depressed Bucky Barnes, Depression, M/M, Marijuana, Minor Bruce Banner/Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, POV Bruce Banner, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, POV Tony Stark, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Reunions, Steve Rogers: The Bisexual America Deserves, Students, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Victim Blaming, awkward teenage sex, by bucky about himself, friendvengers if you will, high avengers, pepper/tony/bruce - Freeform, polyamory negotiations (slight??), tony says really dumb things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:12:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 92,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5948500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRabbits/pseuds/ChasingRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Steve Rogers moved across the country with his parents almost six years prior, Bucky Barnes starts his senior year of high school under the impression that they will never cross paths again.  </p><p>Obviously, that is not what happens. </p><p>Steve has been looking forward to seeing Bucky again ever since he found out he was moving back to Brooklyn, only to realize that Bucky is not the same fun-loving rabble-rouser he left behind. </p><p>With Steve back and finding himself at the helm of a ragtag group of unlikely friends, maybe Bucky can find a place where he belongs once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone can blame thepinupchemist for this
> 
> She's been on my couch for a week, eating my food, drinking my tea, and bringing me down in Stucky flames right along with her
> 
> If at any point you see something I haven't tagged or warned about, just let me know and I'm happy to tag.

Mom didn’t say a word when Bucky decided not to finish out the baseball season last spring. 

She didn’t say a word when he stopped eating at the dinner table and watching TV with her and Becca afterward. 

Becca wasn’t too thrilled, but she seemed to understand that bothering him would have been a fruitless effort. 

Nobody said a word as his hair grew down past his ears and stuck together in greasy tendrils against his now pasty skin. His wardrobe went monochromatic and his voice went monotone--everything became impossible and unbelievably difficult as a vast chasm of nothing monopolized his very being. 

Nobody said a word as Bucky wasted the last summer of high school--arguably the last summer of his youth--twirling knives between his fingers in his windowless basement bedroom. 

He forgot to set an alarm last night, mostly because he had no sense of time these days. It proved not to matter, though, as Becca threw herself onto his bed and nearly catapulted him off of his mattress and into the void.

“Come on, it’s your last first day of high school,” she sing-songed. “You have to get up, we’re going to be late.” 

“I take offense to everything that’s happening right now,” Bucky muttered into his pillow. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but thankfully had had the foresight to at least leave his boxers on before he passed out not a few hours before. 

“Tough gazungas,” Becca replied. “Come on, I need to walk into school with my meathead jock big brother so everyone knows not to mess with me.” 

Poor kid. She didn’t know that even meathead jocks weren’t safe these days. 

… wait.

He looked up and squinted at her. She had already gotten dressed. 

“Did you just call me a meathead jock?”

“Oh, so you  _ are _ listening to me,” she said. At fourteen, she’d just aged out of the fancy private school mom sent her to, that school for the brilliant science kids or whatever, the one Bucky couldn’t have gotten into if he’d tried, and seemed to be taking every advantage of the public Brooklyn Academy High School’s open dress code. She’d shed the pleated navy skirt and the navy blazer for jeans, an  _ I Want to Believe _ t-shirt, and what mom would call ‘knock around shoes’. 

“How are you ready already?” he asked. 

“Because unlike some people I could mention, I’m actually excited for today,” she said. “Brand new school, brand new friends, and I get to go to school with you. I’ve been ready since last week.” 

“I admire your youthful optimism,” Bucky retorted, “However misguided it may be.”

She smacked him for that, right on his left arm. 

She’d forgotten; most people had. 

“Sorry,” she hissed as Bucky sat up and stretched out his wrist. 

Or, rather, tested the mobility of the alloy plates that now made up his wrist. 

Mom had nearly broken the bank getting this contraption for him. It wasn’t a Stark model or anything that fancy, just a run of the mill cybernetic arm that had been a bitch to install and still didn’t work right all the time. It was better than nothing, he’d concluded, but the fact that his arm had been broken and radial nerve damaged beyond repair, the fact that he was a seventeen-year-old amputee was just… ugh. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt or anything. You hit like a girl.” 

Becca punched him right in the thigh, sending him howling. 

“Enjoy the charlie horse,” she chirped. “We have to leave in fifteen minutes.” 

Whoever said girls were made of sugar, spice, and everything nice had obviously never had an asshole little sister. 

Bucky tumbled out of bed and put himself together with about as much grace as one might put together an Ikea desk. He swore when his comb caught on a couple of tangles in his hair, and with a pronounced  _ ‘Fuck it!’  _ tied his hair up in a knot on top of his head. 

Whatever. People at school knew what he looked like. 

His stomach turned. 

The thing about avoidance was that, eventually, you had to face whatever you’d been avoiding. Bucky had avoided the hell out of everyone after what happened--with good reason, he would have you know--and now he would have to go out of his way to ignore the stares he would inevitably get. 

Today was the day to test out his new noise-cancelling headphones, he determined. 

Upstairs, mom had already made him breakfast-to-go: an egg white sandwich on wheat toast, because ever since this whole thing happened she’s been lowkey trying to get him to eat better when he actually eats. It’s irritating, but despite everything it’s nice to know that mom has never and will never stop caring about him. He’s just too fucked up to pay it back in kind and that feels incredibly shitty. 

He tucks the foil-wrapped sandwich into his pocket and joins Becca at the front door. 

“I don’t think anyone has ever been this giddy about starting high school,” said Bucky. 

“Mom said they’re the best years of your life,” Becca replied. 

“I absolutely did not,” mom called from the kitchen. “I said that’s what  _ other  _ people say.”

“Well, there you go,” Bucky swung his flat, mostly empty backpack over his shoulder. “More irrefutable proof that other people are morons.” 

“James,” mom warned, and Bucky sighed. It was bad enough he was about to walk into an unexplored level of the goddamn Inferno, why’d she have to first name him like that?

“Have a good day,” mom kissed Becca on the forehead, then Bucky on the cheek. “I’m working a double shift so I won’t be home until late, but there’s leftover lasagna in the fridge.” 

“Thanks, ma,” Bucky mumbled as Becca hummed a similar sentiment. 

The walk to school wasn’t bad. It wasn’t great, but they didn’t have to take the train or anything like that. All they needed was their own two feet and a will to be on time. 

Brooklyn Academy High was a public institution with a private-sounding name. It was a relatively new campus, only about ten years old, with advanced technology in all the classrooms and assloads of money that, surprise-surprise, didn’t funnel back into academics like it should have. Instead they spent it on shit like a state of the art football field, gym equipment that nobody outside of a sports team would even think of using. There was something to be said for a school that had an iPad for every student but still served cardboard-flavored pizza and slimy fruit cocktail as part of their healthy lunch initiative. 

The main hall was swamped the second Becca and Bucky entered, mostly with eager freshmen trying to find their way. Bucky stuffed his hands in his pockets and nudged Becca, tossing his head to the side in an unmistakable  _ follow me _ . He helped her push her way through the throng of hormones and first day jitters up to the cork boards that listed the homeroom assignments.

“Room 410, Hill,” Becca regurgitated when she came back to Bucky. 

“Damn, she’s a hardass,” Bucky said. “I mean, I’ve never had her. She teaches statistics and she coaches Track and Field.” 

“Ah, so two things that have nothing to do with you,” Becca nodded and turned a cheesy grin on Bucky when he glared back at her. 

Bucky walked with Becca up to the fourth floor. Even if he wasn’t the meathead jock she’d painted him to be, it would still benefit her if everyone knew that Becca Barnes was Bucky Barnes’ kid sister, and if you fucked with her he would fuck with you. 

Y’know, as soon as he hefted himself up out of bed long enough to be thrown into a rage. 

“All right, you gonna be okay?” he asked, despite knowing he had no way to ameliorate this if she said she wouldn’t be. 

“I’m fine,” Becca nodded. “But if I don’t have anywhere to sit at lunch, can I sit with you?” 

Bucky felt a small smile quirk his lips and he nodded, “Sure Becs,” because Becca was exactly the kind of person who would have a full set of friends within the next three hours. 

And now, with the rest of his morning, Bucky would clap his headphones over his ears and go sit in Coulson’s classroom until the bell rang and he had to pretend to be present. He kept his eyes fixed low on people’s legs and feet, sometimes their torsos or shoulders. If he didn’t look at anyone, he couldn’t see how their faces changed when they saw him. This time last year he’d been laughing it up with the rest of the guys on the JV baseball team. He’d had such grand prospects for himself. Senior year was supposed to be his year--make varsity, apply to and get into a good school so he could go and get a good job, and hell, maybe this was the year he’d even get himself a steady girlfriend (or, at his most optimistic, a boyfriend, but fat fucking chance of that now). 

Things change, though. 

Or, more accurately, things go to shit and there’s nothing you can do about it except lie back and take it and hope to god there isn’t anything worse on the horizon. 

Bucky tromps back down to Mr. Coulson’s classroom on the second floor. Mr. Coulson is one of those teachers who’s cool about a lot of things, and not so cool about others. For example, he was more than willing to let someone sleep through his class than he was willing to tolerate brash, rude interruptions. Bucky had done both many times over in the last four years. 

He could feel Mr. Coulson staring at him as he took a seat at the very back of the room, right by the window. These headphones were amazing, at least--even though he wasn’t even listening to music right now, he could barely hear a thing outside his own heart beating. 

One by one his classmates filtered in. Bucky kept his gaze fixed on the middle distance and empty seat in front of him. Even when someone sat down, he didn’t budge, just stared. He could see things going on in his periphery, but if he just pretended not to notice it would all go away, right? 

That’s how things worked. 

He felt more than heard the bell ring. Even with his headphones down around his neck, he couldn’t process the babbling of his classmates. He knew the words, heard the sentences, but they beaded and rolled off him like water on a tarp. 

It wasn’t until he heard, “Barnes,” that Bucky looked up to see Mr. Coulson stick up a yellow slip of paper. Right, class schedule. Because it wasn’t enough that Bucky was locked in a building with a bunch of psychopathic teenagers, he actually had to be productive. He had to learn. 

Goddamn it.

He stood and like a man walking to the gallows kept his eyes on the ground. The room had gone silent, and Bucky knew people were looking again. He fucking knew it. There was no way they could even know anything about anything, but he looked different, and he knew he did, and high schoolers were all over that kind of thing. 

He took his schedule and stared at it all the way back to his seat, happy to have a way to distract himself from the vague murmurs and whispers he could hear. This was the class schedule of Bucky Barnes, JV shortstop and (hah) the best damn switch hitter that the school had ever seen, thank you. This was the schedule of someone who thought he would be going somewhere other than rock bottom. AP physics, AP calculus, AP literature, AP government… looking at it made his stomach do the flip thing again. 

It wasn’t until the very familiar words ‘Steven Rogers’ that Bucky snapped out of his trance. The guy who raised his hand was definitely not the Steve Rogers Bucky was thinking of, but it was a common enough name that he really shouldn’t have been surprised. Granted, the Steve Rogers that Bucky remembered was a rail-thin, fifty-pounds-soaking-wet asthmatic ten year old who liked to make trouble, and he had no right to think his Steve and this fucking brick house of a guy were the same person.

“We don’t get a lot of new faces here,” said Mr. Coulson. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?” 

This Steven stood and turned toward the rest of the room. How did someone manage to look so confident and so shy at the same time? 

“I’m Steve,” he introduced himself in a familiar, albeit lower in register, voice. 

No. 

“I’m actually from Brooklyn--”

_ No _ . 

“--but my dad’s in the military, so we moved around a lot. We moved back here from San Diego this summer. Actually close to the same neighborhood we lived in before we left.” 

Then he looked right at Bucky and there it was.

Holy fucking Christ on  _ sale _ . 

“All right,” Mr. Coulson nodded. “Do anything for fun?” 

“I draw,” Steve offered, like it somehow wouldn’t count. 

He kept drawing. 

“And I like to run,” he continued. 

Half of Bucky’s elementary school career had been dedicated to taking Steve to the nurse’s office because of his fucking asthma attacks, and now this? 

What the fuck was happening? 

It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. Steve Rogers was a thing of his past, the kind of person you know, are glad you knew, and resign yourself to the fact that you’ll never know again. He was Bucky’s first best friend, his first partner in crime, and (he glanced around to make sure nobody could hear his thoughts) his first boy crush. 

He was pretty sure Steve had had a crush on him too, since the last time they saw each other Steve had craned his neck, stood up on his tiptoes and kissed him in that way clumsy way eleven year olds do with one another. They hadn’t been old enough for Bucky to realize the full implications of that, but they sure as shit were now. 

Which was why that son of a bitch walked over to him at this very second, stupidly muscled and grinning and oh god he was going to throw up, wasn’t he. People were looking--not all of them, but some of them, and that was more than Bucky wanted right now (or ever again)--but that didn’t stop Steve. No, he came right up to Bucky and dragged the empty desk beside him right on over. 

“Uh, it’s day one, could you maybe exercise some restraint and not move those?” Mr. Coulson asked. Steve made a cartoonish  _ oh, boy _ face and scooted the desk back in alignment with the others. “Much appreciated, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve saluted. 

Meanwhile, Bucky’s heart went big and his gut bottom out, and top that off with his ribcage somehow shrinking and--

“Bucky?” 

Yup, he was going to die here. 

When Bucky finally looked over, finally saw those perfect teeth and that swishy blond hair, something clicked. 

“Steve…” he could hear the awe in his own voice. “You’re huge.” 

He legitimately could not believe those words had just come out of his mouth, but there they were. Now Steve could see just how far Bucky had fallen. 

“You’re no slouch yourself,” Steve chuckled. “I tried calling to you in the hallway, but you had your headphones on.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky’s tongue darted out to wet his suddenly too dry lips. This was actually pathetic, but still he managed a heartfelt, “Sorry about that.” 

“Not a problem,” Steve said. 

“What--” Bucky stopped himself, only to start on the same exact question again. “What the hell happened to you?” 

“Uh, puberty?” 

The desk creaked under Steve shifting his weight. Shit. Bucky was making him feel uncomfortable. He had to redirect the conversation. 

“So, San Diego, huh?” he asked. “What made you guys pack up and leave the California sunshine?” 

“Oh, my dad just kinda thought it was time,” Steve said. “Things kinda went south out there, y’know?”

“Aw man, I’m sorry to hear that,” Bucky replied. That was the next line in the script, right? Bucky wasn’t so great at following along with Social Niceties anymore. They jumped the shark with their season finale and frankly, Bucky was not a fan of where they were headed. 

“Thanks,” Steve gave this ghost of a smile, went silent for a few seconds, then lifted up his canary yellow class schedule. He asked, “So, what classes are you taking?”

Bucky blinked. 

Right. They were at school, and this somehow wasn’t a fever dream. 

He stuck out his schedule so Steve could read it. 

“Hey, we’ve got AP Government together,” Steve remarked, then shook his head, “Yeah, that’s gonna be a hoot and a half. Jesus, take some AP classes there, Buck?” 

His grin would be Bucky’s undoing. 

“Yeah, sorry not all of us are in…” Bucky squinted at Steve’s schedule, then snorts, “Oh, you’re gonna give me shit, AP Art History?” 

Steve laughed, which made Bucky laugh, which he didn’t realize had become so rare until the muscles in his face started to hurt. They too had fallen out of shape. 

“Man, it’s good to see you,” Steve said. “Honest, when my dad said we were moving back I nearly jumped outta my skin I was so excited.” 

Bucky flushed both with flattery and embarrassment at once. If he’d known Steve was coming back, sure, he would have been excited too, but that’s because Steve is Steve and Bucky is Bucky and Bucky hasn’t even showered in over a week. 

“You guys moved,” Steve said, bringing Bucky back into their conversation. “I went by your old building, and I couldn’t find you.” 

“Yeah, we um,” Bucky cleared his throat. “We moved after my dad passed away.”

Steve’s face softens. Damn it, it happened so fucking long ago and Bucky just  _ really _ does not want to talk about it right now, okay? 

“It was a couple years after you left,” Bucky explained. “Cancer.” 

“Shit,” Steve frowned. “Buck, I’m so sorry.” 

“Like I said, happened a long time ago,” Bucky shook his head and offered Steve (what he hoped was) a convincing smile. 

Things slowed between them then, but it didn’t seem to bother Steve so Bucky tried to follow his example. 

“How are your mom and Becca?” Steve asked.

Bucky, grateful to have an out, spent the rest of the homeroom period bragging about his mom and little sister. He went on about mom switching careers after dad died, how, after caring for her husband in his last days made her realize  _ it was her calling _ to work as a hospice nurse. He talked about Becca, and  _ she’s fourteen now, Steve, it’s unreal _ because she’s already smarter than he is and better than him at so many things. 

Steve smiled through the whole damn thing, and even humored Bucky a couple of times with a laugh or two. 

When the bell rang, Bucky felt the genuine crush of disappointment settle on his chest. He couldn’t believe he had Steve right there with him and they couldn’t just sit and catch up for… hell, the whole day. Steve was probably one of the few people Bucky could stand to talk to for that long. 

“See you fourth period, right?” Steve asked as they funneled out of the classroom and into the hallway. “AP Gov. Save me a seat?” 

Bucky, being the epic fuckup goober that he was, blurted, “Yeah.” 

Steve disappeared into the sea of students after that, leaving Bucky reeling on the spot. 

“Well, fuck me sideways,” he muttered, and with that set off to find his--he glanced back at his schedule, already crumpled several times by his stupid freaking cyborg hand and-- _ ugh _ . 

AP Calculus. 

“All right, senior year,” Bucky said to himself, then took a steadying breath. 

He deflated immediately with all the grace of a balloon ready to pop. 

This was going to suck so hard.

  


* * *

  


Steve was still new to his body. 

It hadn’t happened overnight, of course, but it had happened quickly enough. Mom loosened up after they moved to San Diego, especially since they lived on base. It was safer than Brooklyn, she’d said, and when Steve asked if he could hang out with his friends there, she hardly ever said ‘no’. It wasn’t that mom hadn’t liked Bucky, it was just that she knew what being around Bucky did to Steve. 

Steve had a strong moral compass, mom had told him, and she knew that Bucky did too. What she didn’t like so much was the fact that Steve hadn’t started fighting until Bucky was there to bail him out at the last second. She didn’t like that Bucky encouraged Steve to try new things, that he took advantage of Steve’s daredevil streak, that he got Steve in trouble. 

In Brooklyn, Steve had been confined to his building or Bucky’s (and you’d best believe Sarah Rogers had Winnie Barnes on speed dial for years and years); in San Diego, Steve was suddenly allowed to go exploring with his new friends Morita and Jones. Mom didn’t bat an eye when he came back sunburned and out of breath after a day of running on the beach with Dugan and Falsworth, or scaled trees with Dernier. Somehow, this had all been fine with her. 

His body hadn’t changed overnight, no, but that didn’t mean he didn’t occasionally knock his head against cabinets or snap pencils in his fingers when he got angry with his teachers. 

And it certainly didn’t mean that he wouldn’t accidentally knock people down either. 

Today’s first victim was a guy with dark curly hair and wire-framed glasses. Steve hadn’t even realized he’d stopped in the middle of the hallway, confused about the crappy dot matrix printed schedule in his hands, until another big guy smacked into him and sent him flying into the guy next to him. 

“What the hell, man,” the guy grumbled from the floor.

“Crap, I’m so sorry,” Steve adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and held out a hand for the guy to take. He heaved the guy up to his feet and said, “Really, I’m kinda lost and I guess a little easier to smack into than I thought. Are you okay?” 

The guy looked him up and down. He was average sized, maybe a little chubbier than most, but looked to be relatively harmless. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said and slid his glasses up his nose. “What class are you looking for?” 

“Uh, AP Environmental Science,” Steve read off of his schedule, like he hadn’t signed up for each and every one of the classes on there. 

“I’m actually headed over there right now,” the guy said. “I can walk with you.” 

“Really? That’d be awesome,” Steve smiled, then stuck out his hand. “Steve Rogers.” 

“Bruce Banner,” the guy shook Steve’s hand. “You’re new here, huh?” 

“Yeah, just moved here, actually,” Steve replied as they began to walk. “Or, moved back, I guess.” 

“Man, someone left Brooklyn and decided to come back?” Bruce’s eyebrows swept up into his hairline. “There’s something you don’t hear every day.” 

“Long story,” Steve said. 

“A man of great and intimate detail,” Bruce nodded and directed him toward a door tucked away in the very corner of the hallway.

The room in question was pristinely kept, with posters of everything from cellular structure to outer space to lab procedures papering the walls. For a second, Steve found himself in awe of the bounty of technologically advanced accoutrements bedecking the classroom. Each and every one bore the ever-increasingly familiar logo of Stark Industries. 

“How’s a public school afford all this?” Steve asked. “Not that it’s not great, it’s just… expensive.” 

“The school’s got an in with Stark Industries,” said Bruce, “C’mon, you can sit with us.” 

“Us?” Steve’s brows furrowed as Bruce took a seat at the left-most front desk, right beside another dark-haired guy. Like many students, he was ignorant to the world outside his headphones and whatever he was writing in his somehow already ratty notebook. 

“Steve, meet the school’s ‘in’,” Bruce gestured, and when the guy didn’t look up Bruce smacked him on the shoulder so he could introduce, “Tony Stark.” 

Tony was all angles where Bruce was soft, though they both looked like they got the same amount of non-sleep. He wore an Iron Maiden t-shirt over a gray thermal, and had an excess of chains hanging out of his pockets. 

“Tony, this is Steve,” Bruce introduced back, “He’s new.” 

“How’s it goin’,” Tony nodded. “You’re not Bruce’s usual fare.” 

“Yeah, because my usual fare is a hundred and fifty pounds of surly asshole,” Bruce pointedly shot back, not even looking up from rummaging in his backpack. 

“Jeez, cut me to the quick why don’t you,” Tony put a hand over his heart, then looked to Steve. “You just gonna stand there and look pretty all day, or do you have multiple functions?” 

“Just ignore him, Steve,” Bruce said. “He’s got a Napoleon complex.” 

“Fuck you,” Tony jammed a bony elbow into Bruce’s squishy side, and then flipped a quick 180 to ask Steve, “Are you sitting down or what?” 

Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about Tony yet, but Bruce was all right enough, it seemed like. He sat down at the third seat, right at the edge of the table, and pulled the green spiral notebook out of his backpack. At the bottom of the cover, he wrote in block letters, “AP Envi Sci”. 

He listened as Tony and Bruce discussed,

“You think Erskine’ll give me an A if I show him my prototype for a real life Delorean time machine?” 

“I think he might have you committed for that.” 

“He’s a fellow man of science, Brucey, he wouldn’t do that to me.”

“I would.” 

“Are you forgetting the great Alien Debate of Freshman Year? If he’s not gonna commit me for hypothesizing that aliens are real, he’s not gonna do it for a time machine.” 

“Tony, for god’s sake, it’s not even nine in the morning,” Bruce pushed his fingers under his glasses as the bell rang. 

“Am I wrong?” Tony asked. 

“Jesus…”

“Am I wrong?” Tony asked again, louder this time. “If you’re telling me that there’s anyone here that’s ignorant enough to think we’re the only intelligent beings in the known universe--”

He stood up on his chair, addressing the whole of the room, “Anyone here brave enough to admit that  the truth is out there?” 

He stuck up his arm as high as it would go, much to Bruce’s dismay. When he caught Steve’s eye, he mouthed,  _ ‘Every fucking time _ …’ 

“I believe in the truth,” boomed a voice from the back of the room. Steve and Bruce both turned to see a man so big that there was no way he was actually in high school. And apparently, he only had one volume to his voice, as his declaration rattled, “Intelligent life in the universe isn’t a question of ‘if’, it is a question of ‘where’.” 

The room fell silent again, everyone’s eyes now gone from Tony and onto the freaking viking in the back of the room. 

“So there you go,” Tony nodded. “Thank you, uh…”

“My name is Thor,” the guy replied. 

Tony hung his head, “Of course it is.” 

“Well, Tony,” came a distinctly German voice at the front of the room. “A charming display, as always, but if you don’t mind I would like to begin.”

Everyone immediately straightened up (except for Tony, who took his sweet time sitting back down) and turned their full attention to their instructor. 

“Good morning, and welcome to AP Environmental Science. I am Dr. Erskine,” he adjusted his glasses on his face and continued, “I have only one expectation of my students, and that is that you do your best. You will conduct yourselves with decorum in this room and remember that all genuine expressions of thoughts, ideas, and questions are to be respected.” 

Steve wasn’t what anyone would call a model student, but he was pretty sure he could manage that. He flat out ignored busy work and if the lectures weren’t of any particular interest, he had no problem spacing out or, in some cases, skipping class altogether. Teachers had a tendency to talk down, to drone, to slosh through things the same way day in and day out. 

That’s how he’d ended up getting stoned with Morita so damn often. Morita always had the best weed, and he was more than generous with it. Many class periods were spent under the bleachers, smoking and shooting the shit because they were teenagers and everything was dumb. 

That was how Morita came to know about Bucky. He was the only one of the guys back home who knew just how excited Steve had been to return to Brooklyn, and the only one who’d completely understood why. 

God, Bucky looked like he’d been through hell and back. 

He got a smack on the arm, and came back to Dr. Erskine looking directly at him, “Steven Rogers? Last call.” 

_ Shit _ , “Sorry,” he said and brought his class schedule up for Erskine to sign. 

“You’re new?” Erskine asked as he scrawled a loopy conformation beside his name. 

“Yeah,” Steven nodded. 

“Well, welcome,” Erskine smirked, “And good luck with the company you’ve decided to keep. I assure you, you will never be bored with Tony and Bruce.” 

“Why do I get the feeling that that was vaguely threatening?” Steve asked.

Erskine shrugged, then waved him away, calling the next student on the roster forward. 

That was how most of the morning went. Steve went to class, his teachers signed his schedule, and then he spent the rest of the class periods spacing out and wondering just what the hell to do with himself when he saw Bucky again. 

And then it was time for fourth period. Tony and Bruce were both in his AP Government class too, as it turned out. However, rather than making a beeline for the vacant seat Tony had apparently reserved for him, Steve strode to the back of the room and sat at the desk beside Bucky. 

One of the empty desks, anyway. 

“Hey, Buck,” he greeted. 

When he first saw Bucky back in the hallway this morning, he’d almost done a double take. They hadn’t seen each other since they were kids, granted, but the Bucky of today held little to no resemblance to the Bucky of yesterday. Bucky’s had been an effortless and genial air of fun. He smiled a lot, threw stuff he shouldn’t have thrown and said words he shouldn’t have said. Mischief lived in his eyes, and when he smiled he took his whole face with him. 

This Bucky looked up from where he’d rested his head on the desk and regarded Steve with as much confusion as he had this morning. 

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky returned. The voice was right--smooth and deep, but unmistakable to Steve’s ears. Man, he looked like the walking dead. Steve figured he was probably just tired this morning, that he needed to wake up all the way before he looked human, but no. His eyes really sank that low into his face, his eyebrows really had lost their elasticity. The shadows under his eyes had darkened somehow, the curve of his lips had permanently turned downward. 

But something inside Steve recognized that something inside Bucky. It was the same something that had recognized him so many years ago, that first day they met. Steve couldn’t even remember it all the way, just remembered that one day, he had Bucky, and nothing was the same after.  

Bucky pulled him back, asking, “How’s your first day so far?” 

“Uh, okay,” Steve slid his backpack onto the floor and took inventory of their surroundings. “How about yours?” 

“Awesome,” Bucky lied.

Bucky wasn’t even good at lying anymore. Not that he’d ever been a dishonest person or anything, it was just… Bucky was good at fibbing when they got into trouble, and now it seemed that wasn’t the case. 

“Rogers, what the fuck?” Tony appeared in front of his desk. “I save you a seat, I open my heart up to you, and this is how you treat me?” 

“Uh,” Steve frowned, unsure of how to proceed. 

“Jesus, Barnes,” Tony whistled then. “Oh how the mighty have fallen, huh?” 

“Fuck off, Stark,” Bucky spat, sending the hairs on Steve’s arm bristling. 

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Steve commanded. “He’s my friend.” 

“Uh, and what the hell am I?” Tony gestured to himself. 

“A skid on the sidewalk if you talk to him like that again,” Steve raised his eyebrows. His blood started running hot, his heart started slamming into his ribs. Through the edges of his vision starting to blur, he didn’t miss the way Bruce rolled his eyes and stood. 

“Touchy,” Tony tutted as Bruce came to stand beside him. “Just thought you woulda had more integrity than hanging out with--”

Blessedly, Bruce clapped a hand over Tony’s mouth. 

“I swear to God, I can’t start an asskicking tab this early in the school year,” he said, already visibly exhausted by this guy. “And, no offense, I’m not going up against Steve or Barnes. I’m not insane.” 

And then he amended, “Well, not  _ that _ insane.”

“And what the fuck have I ever done to you, Stark?” Bucky asked. 

“Let’s not open up this can of worms,” Bruce shook his head and turned an apologetic look on Steve. “Don’t worry about him, all right? I’ve kept him on shorter leashes before. Sorry-- _ ow _ ! You shithead!” 

Steve could see the teeth indents on Bruce’s middle finger right as Tony broke free. 

“I can’t even bust a guy’s chops anymore without everyone getting all up in arms,” Tony muttered. “Thanks, Obama.” 

As Steve opened his mouth to retaliate, Bruce just held up his hand and shook his head. 

“Don’t engage him,” he advised. 

“I actually agree with Banner on that,” Bucky said, voice suddenly less sullen. “We’re fine, Steve. Everything’s fine.” 

Steve had never been satisfied with those kinds of answers, but with one look to Bucky decided,  _ fine _ , he wouldn’t press it. 

For now, anyway.

The government teacher was one of those who took a ‘hands on’ approach to learning. It was just that the hands weren’t hers, but rather those of her students. Before anyone had any say so, she split people off into pairs, alphabetically by last name, and they were to talk with one another and report back to the class what they’d found out about their new classmate. 

Bucky got called before Steve (“ _ Barnes and Barton”) _ , while Steve had to wait. He prayed there was someone else between Rogers and Stark and, what do you know, the universe decided to listen. 

“Rogers and Romanov,” the teacher directed them to a corner of the room opposite Bucky and his partner, the mousy-looking Barton. Steve, meanwhile, nearly lost his breath when Romanov sat down beside him. 

“Hello,” she greeted, as though completely unaware that she had a figure that could kill and a stare that would exonerate her in the face of a murder sentencing. “I’m Nat.” 

“Like Nat King Cole?” Steve asked before he could stop himself. “Or just Old King Cole and his merry… old… soul… yeah. I’m just gonna, um… yeah.” 

Nat’s eyebrows shot up, “Are you having a stroke?” 

“No, I’m just,” Steve swallowed. This was verging on Peggy Carter territory. “Sorry, I’m Steve.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” Nat said. She didn’t have too much range in her vocal inflection, nor did she have a wide range of facial expressions, but it worked on her somehow. Not that it mattered, but he liked a self-possessed woman who could just as easily kill a man as she could breathe. 

“Let’s see, inane small talk,” Nat seemed to rifle through several file cabinets in her mind. “I’m a senior, I’m on varsity track, and this exercise is one of the more idiotic that I’ve done today.” 

Steve laughed, “Yeah, I’m with you on that.” 

“What about you?” Nat asked. “What’s your sign?” 

It took Steve a little longer than he would have liked to realize, right, she’s gotta be joking around. Still, it didn’t stop him from giving her a grin and replying, “Cancer.” 

Nat’s lips quirked up and she folded her arms across her chest. “Sagittarius,” she said, then, “Maybe. I can never remember.” 

Steve chuckled. 

“So, track?” he asked. 

“Shotput,” Nat confirmed. 

Steve (the epitome of subtle) looked directly at her arms. 

“Gun nut?” she smirked, then flexed her right arm. “Kinda out of shape, didn’t practice as much as I should have over the summer.” 

She said all this like she wasn’t more ripped than half the guys their age. 

When the class came back together, there was a lot of chatting, a lot of people goofing around and making comments about what was being said about everyone else. 

Bucky looked like he was in hell. Even though that Barton kid didn’t say much of anything about him, and Bucky didn’t say much about him back, it was still apparent that he wished he hadn’t needed to say anything at all.

Something wasn’t right.

“You okay?” Nat asked. 

“Not really,” Steve replied, then clarified, “I mean, I’m fine, but.” 

She seemed to follow his line of sight, as she said, “Oh, don’t worry about Clint. He’s a dork and kind of a smartass, but he’s mostly harmless. And Barnes… I don’t know what happened to him. Maybe he’s going through his My Chemical Romance phase before baseball starts up again.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked back at her. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, hoping not to let on that he was more invested in this than he had any right to be. He got the feeling that Nat knew anyway, and would have whether or not he’d tried to cover it up. 

“Well, Barnes was most definitely not rocking the man bun this time last year,” Nat swung one of her legs over the other. “He was a pretty normal guy. Girls threw themselves at him, but they do that with most of the baseball players.”

“So he does play baseball,” Steve confirmed. 

“Short stop,” Nat nodded. “He dropped out though with a month left in the season, though. No one ever knew why. I think maybe he got hurt. He seems a little off kilter.” 

Steve looked over at Bucky again but couldn’t see what Nat was talking about. Maybe it had just been too long since Steve had seen Bucky move in anything but a memory. 

“And he likes boys, so it looks like you’re in luck.” 

Steve’s spine straightened of his own accord and he looked right back at her. The slightest smile turned her full lips and she said, “I have my sources. Namely, the way you two were eye banging before Tony rained on your parade.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve shook his head. 

Nat nodded again, “Sure you don’t.” 

Okay, so maybe Steve had kissed Bucky right before he and his family left, but that had been stupid eleven year old impulse. Even back then Steve had known he liked boys (it was actually the discovering just how much he actually liked girls too that was surprising), and Bucky had had a nice face, and he was nice to Steve, and he actually  _ liked _ Steve enough to kiss him back. At least, Steve had always told himself that Bucky kissed him back, but several hundred kisses and a lot of growing up later, Steve was pretty sure he’d built that moment into something it wasn’t. 

Or maybe he remembered it for exactly what it was. 

Steve realized he was staring at Bucky again, but only because Nat nudged him and told him to keep it in his pants. 

Bucky didn’t look at him for the rest of the period, and when the lunch bell rang, he took off without so much as a wave. Steve wanted so desperately to follow him, but Nat put a hand on his shoulder and asked, “Anyone given you the campus tour yet?” 

“No, but I--”

“Tasha, I can’t find my phone.” 

That Barton kid came up to Nat with the look of a wounded animal, only to perk up again when Nat pulled a phone out of her pocket and handed it to him. 

“I’m not going to keep saving your ass like this,” she said. “Next time you lose it, it’s staying lost.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Barton muttered, then looked to Steve. “Hi, I’m Clint.” 

“Steve.” 

“He’s new,” said Nat. “Do you want to come on the grand tour with us?” 

“Nah, I have to go set up the targets for practice in fifth period,” Clint tucked his phone back into his pocket. “The life of an archer.” 

“I’m not the one who took up an obsolete sport,” Nat stood and adjusted the sleeves of her camo jacket. 

“Said the woman who hurls brass balls around in her spare time,” Clint laughed back and turned his attention to Steve. “Good to meet you, Steve. Get Tasha on your side while she’s still ambivalent about you. It’s a hard vote to swing once it’s cast.” 

He winked at Steve and patted Nat on the cheek, which almost cost him the use of his hand as Nat yanked it and pinned it behind his back in a pretty impressive display. 

“What do you say?” she asked. 

“You’re so strong,” Clint grunted, trying to break away. “Careful, I might go weak in the knees.” 

“Cry me a river, Katniss,” she blew a tendril of copper hair out of her face and shoved him away. 

She turned to Steve and without missing a beat asked, “Ready for the tour?”

  


* * *

  


The day couldn’t have ended soon enough. 

As predicted, Becca had made friends well before lunch time. Bucky had planted himself at a table in the corner of the cafeteria, just in case, but it wasn’t two minutes before Becca had found him and excitedly detailed her first four hours of high school in exactly thirty seconds. 

“Aren’t you going to sit with the team?” she’d asked. 

“Just waiting on ‘em,” Bucky had told her. 

“Aren’t they over there?” Becca had pointed across the cafeteria, over to where Rumlow and Schmidt and the rest of the team sat, shouting louder than necessary and being overall dickweeds. 

“Don’t worry about it, Becs,” Bucky had said. “Go have lunch with your friends. I’ll go have lunch with mine.”

As soon as Becca had gone, Bucky had booked it up to the library. He’d spent the whole of his lunch period on the computer, clicking through random wikipedia articles until the bell rang. It was nothing, just like everything else in his life was nothing, but, just like the rest of his life, it passed the time. 

After the final bell rang, Bucky found Becca waiting out in front of the school for him. 

“Hey, kid,” he greeted her. “Not too cool to walk home with your brother, are you?” 

Becca looked at him with this face that made Bucky regret ever saying anything at all. He should really just be mute. 

“I’ll never be that cool,” she said. 

Bucky smiled and draped his right arm around her shoulder. It had been one hell of a day and Bucky was looking forward to sleeping it off for the next fifteen hours.

“So, how was your last first day of high school?” she asked. 

“Uneventful,” Bucky shrugged, which was for the most part true. “Uh, you don’t remember a guy named Steve Rogers, do you?” 

“Uh, no duh I remember him,” Becca’s left arm squeezed his waist. “He was that super little guy, right?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky couldn’t believe just how not-little Steve was now. “He’s back. I guess he moved back to Brooklyn.” 

“That’s cool,” Becca nodded. “You were really sad after he left.” 

Bucky hummed. 

“... he’s the one who kissed you, right?” 

“Becca!” Bucky gave her a shove without really meaning to. He didn’t need anyone hearing that. 

“Oh, come on,” Becca laughed. “I was eight and even I thought that was cute.” 

“Just, don’t--” Bucky looked over his shoulder. “Not that loud.” 

“Bucky, it is 2016,” Becca replied frankly. “Anyone who cares about that is a living piece of shit.” 

A low rumble shook Bucky’s thoughts right out of his head. Great, on top of everything, they were going to have to deal with some schmuck in a loud car who needed to find something better to do than hit on fourteen year old girls in the street. 

“Buck!” 

Becca and Bucky both turned to see--oh, for fuck’s sake. 

When the shit did Steve Rogers become the kind of guy who rides a goddamn motorcycle? 

Steve flipped the visor of his helmet down and turned off his engine, then plucked the helmet from his head altogether. His blond hair stuck up in obscenely tantalizing ways and it just was not fair. 

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky waved. 

“That’s Steve!?” Becca yelped before she could stop herself. 

_ Are you there God? It’s me, Bucky Barnes. I know we haven’t talked in awhile but go ahead and feel free to take me anytime now. _

Steve, however, looked surprised. He asked, “Becca?”

“Yeah!” she grinned as Steve dismounted his bike. “You remember me?” 

“Of course I do,” Steve smiled back at her, “Or, I remember a little squirt that kinda looked like you.” 

Becca wasted no time in practically mauling Steve with a hug. 

Bucky hadn’t even done that yet. 

“You’re so…” 

“Yeah,” Steve tried to steer the conversation, but Becca still managed to finish her sentence with a far off,  _ “Dreamy _ .”

“Rebecca,” Bucky warned. 

“Eat me, James,” Becca stuck her tongue out right back. 

_ Any time, Lord.  _

“Thanks, Bec, that means a lot,” Steve chuckled, then looked to Bucky. “You left before I could ask you if you wanted to hang out.” 

Becca made the very un-subtle move to sock Bucky between his shoulder blades. 

“Ow, asshole,” Bucky hissed at her, then looked back to Steve. “And yeah, I’d hang out sometime.” 

“Great,” Steve beamed and pulled his phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket. He brought up a new contact screen and handed it to Bucky. 

This would have gone so much faster if Bucky still had two flesh thumbs. Touch screens had advanced considerably, but there still wasn’t a way to get his stupid metal fingers to register. 

He kept his left hand in his pocket as he slowly and painstakingly typed his information into Steve’s phone. He handed it back and gave Steve what he hoped didn’t look like a forced smile. 

“Great,” Steve grinned, and suddenly he found himself smushed against Steve’s giant body. “It’s good to see you, Buck.” 

With his face squished against Steve, he conceded, “Good to see you too, Stevie.” 

Becca and Bucky stood stock still on the sidewalk as Steve replaced his helmet and hopped back on his bike. Steve gave them a final wave before he revved back up and sped away. 

“Oh,” 

“Becca,” Bucky warned again. 

“My god,” she finished. 

Damn it. 

“James Buchanan Barnes, if you do not climb that man like a tree, I will personally see to it that they take your queer card away.” 

“Becca!” Bucky snapped, but it was hard to be angry as he came to the realization that, damn, Steve Rogers smelled really freaking good too. 

  



	2. Chapter 2

_ Draw a self-portrait _ . 

That was it, that was the whole assignment. 

Steve flipped over his notebook pages at least three times in hopes that he’d jotted down more details, but alas. It appeared his first homework assignment for his drawing class was as simple as he’d noted. He had half a mind to draw a happy face and just submit that. Art was open-ended, which was why Steve liked it so much, but on occasion even he needed some direction. 

Being that it was a first assignment, it was probably meant to demonstrate proficiency. Boring, but Steve guessed they had to start somewhere. He grabbed his sketchbook out of his backpack, flipped to a clean page, and parked in front of his bathroom mirror. 

Thankfully, he only got about five minutes in before his phone buzzed and blared a loud rendition of the Mighty Mouse theme. 

Bucky Barnes’ name lit up his screen. 

After nearly a week of (what were, frankly, bullshit) excuses, it looked like Bucky was finally ready to make a date. 

Date? Why did he think date? 

_ You know exactly why, Rogers.  _

He jumped when his phone declared,  _ ‘Here I come to save the day!’  _ and swiped to answer, “Hello?” 

“Steve? It’s Bucky.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve nodded, then squeezed his eyes shut because, damn it, that sounded so sarcastic. He backtracked, “I mean, your name came up on my screen, so I knew.” 

“Jesus, Steve, if I’d known you were gonna rip a couple rails of coke today I would’a called you sooner.”

“Ha-ha, asshole,” Steve mocked back, pretending he couldn’t see himself turning red in the bathroom mirror. “So, what’s up?” 

“Uh, nothing really,” Bucky said. “Nothing at all, actually. Sorry, I don’t know why I called… other than to talk to you, I guess.” 

“Gee, I’m flattered,” Steve laughed, then drummed his pencil on the sink. “Any chance you’d wanna hang out?” 

Bucky took only a moment before he agreed, “Yeah, we can hang out.” 

Steve perked up. 

“Yeah? I mean, would you want to right now?” he asked. 

“Sure,” Bucky said. “You wanna come over to my place? Becca’s here, she’ll probably pee her pants when she sees you again.” 

“You sure you mean Becca?” 

Bucky coughed. 

Steve rubbed a hand down his face, “Uh, you should probably tell me where you live now, huh?” 

“Oh, right,” Bucky said, and waited for Steve to find a clean space in his sketchbook to take down the address. It wasn’t too far from their old neighborhood, and though Steve could have probably walked it just as easily, taking the motorcycle felt like the right choice. 

He’d bought it off of Dugan’s older brother for practically nothing and had spent the whole of his summer fixing it before the move back to Brooklyn. He couldn’t explain to his dad why he’d wanted it, he just had, and for that reason alone he’d decided to pay for it himself. It was the first thing he’d ever bought with his own money and, no lie, it had felt pretty good. 

The ride was quick. This building, unsurprisingly, looked so similar to Bucky’s old building that Steve thought for a moment he’d gone through a wormhole, but no. No, older Bucky was there sitting on the stoop, hood drawn up over his head and a cigarette dangling from between his fingers. 

Steve parked and shut off the engine. He pulled off his helmet, squinting both against the sun and the sight before him. 

“Your mother know you smoke?” he asked. 

“Did anyone ask you, Rogers?” Bucky shot back and took a long, deep drag off the end of his cigarette. 

He ended up coughing, which was defeat enough if you asked Steve. 

“Don’t,” Bucky still warned. 

Steve held up a placating hand and promised, “Won’t.”

“And my mom doesn’t know because  she doesn’t need to,” Bucky finished. “That’s the last thing I need.” 

“Other than lung cancer, obviously,” Steve quipped back. 

Bucky narrowed his eyes and declared, “I don’t like you.”

“Sure,” Steve grinned and plopped down on the stoop beside him. “So, how’s your weekend so far?” 

Bucky shrugged, “Could definitely be worse.” 

Steve nodded, then tried to follow Bucky’s line of sight to see just what the hell he was staring at. It turned out that Bucky was only staring off into the distance. 

“Sure about that?” Steve asked. 

Bucky didn’t answer so much as blatantly ignore him. He finished up his cigarette and stubbed it out on the concrete step in front of them before standing. 

“Come on in,” he said, and with both hands in his sweater pockets lead Steve inside. Theirs is the very first door to the left inside the building. Bucky explains, “My mom’s gonna be home for dinner. She’ll probably want you to stay, especially when she sees how…” 

At a loss for words, Bucky simply gestured to the whole of him. 

“Okay, I get it, I’m not an invalid anymore,” Steve let out a laugh. “Maybe I oughta start talking about how big and muscley you got.” 

“I’m  _ not  _ muscley,” Bucky insisted, “I’m  _ lithe _ ,” and they stepped into the apartment. Winnie Barnes may have been at work, but the fragrant aroma of her cooking hung pleasant in the air. 

“What’s for dinner?” Steve found himself asking. 

“Let’s check the crock pot,” Bucky said. They walked into the kitchen, over to the large slow cooker on the counter, and Bucky inspected the contents through the steamed lid. 

“Chili?” he guessed. “Time will tell.”

Steve shucked his jacket and looked around for a coat hook that, as it turned out, didn’t exist. Instead, Bucky stashed the jacket and the helmet under the end table by the front door and motioned for Steve to follow him. 

The apartment wasn’t big, but it wasn’t any smaller than the one they’d had when Steve left. The wallpaper was similarly atrocious and the wood floors had definitely seen better days, but Winnie Barnes’ signature sense of ‘home sweet home’ slid over Steve like a well-worn glove. 

“Hold up,” Steve said then, because they were in the hallway, and that could only mean one thing. 

The Family Photos. 

“Aw, come on,” Bucky sighed. “They’re all a hundred years old, okay? You know what I looked like back then.” 

He went white as a sheet when Steve looked him dead in the eye and pointed to the very recent pair of school portraits hanging in the middle of the wall. Becca’s picture looked more or less the same as she did now--her hair was a little longer and her face was a little rounder, but Becca was still very obviously Becca. Bucky, though… 

This was closer to the Bucky he remembered. A year for him was the difference between night and day. His hair was shorter here, his face looked clean and his eyes crinkled where his smile had pushed up his cheeks. 

“Okay, fine,” Bucky kept his hands in his pockets. “Some of them are more recent than others.” 

Understatement of the year, but Steve could see Bucky’s eyes wandering and feel the  _ do not want _ rolling off of him in tumultuous waves. 

“So, where’s your room?” Steve asked, hoping the change in topic wouldn’t throw them into an entire afternoon of awkward avoidance. 

“Oh,” Bucky blinked as though snapping out of a trance. “Yeah, it’s downstairs.” 

Bucky led him through a door at the end of the hall and down a narrow flight of stairs. The only source of natural light down here came from windows up at the very top of the whitewashed walls. It wasn’t until Bucky flipped the light switch at the bottom of the staircase that Steve could take in the room. 

Books and clothes formed a range that rivaled the vastness of the Appalachians. Dirty dishes dotted the landscape. Posters peeled off of the walls. There was only one clear pathway, and that went from the base of the stairs to Bucky’s bed. 

Steve squinted at the wall opposite them, then scowled. 

“Please tell me you don’t spank it to a picture of Elisabeth Hasselbeck,” he said. 

Bucky frowned and followed Steve’s line of sight. Then he shifted and suddenly there was a knife right in the center of Hasselbeck’s forehead. 

“Target practice,” Bucky supplied, like he hadn’t just thrown a knife at his wall. 

“Where the hell did that come from?” Steve asked. 

Bucky shrugged, “My pocket.” 

“You throw knives?” Steve couldn’t move past it. Not only did Bucky throw knives, it appeared he threw them with staggering accuracy. 

“I do,” Bucky nodded. “You wanna see it again?” 

He didn’t even look away from Steve, didn’t even wait for Steve to say yes (which he was totally going to do), just sunk another knife into Hasselbeck’s face. 

“Holy crap,” Steve marveled and stepped over the abundance of clutter to more closely inspect the poster. He whistled, “You’ve gotta be kidding me. How’d you learn all that?” 

“Long summer,” Bucky shrugged. 

“Man,” Steve chuckled. “Not gonna lie, that’s pretty damn impressive. And your aim is on point.” 

“It helps if you really want to hit the target,” Bucky’s hands both go back into his sweater pockets. “Cycling through the Fox & Friends does wonders for improving accuracy.” 

Steve outright cackled. 

“You’re incredible,” he said. “I knew I liked you.” 

He could have sworn he saw Bucky go pink when he turned back, but it must have been a trick of the light. Bucky wasn’t the kind of person who blushed, especially under the pussy-footing affections of a guy he hadn’t seen in years and years. 

But also there was no way to tell because Bucky flopped face down on his bed before Steve could see for sure. 

“Hey, you okay?” Steve asked. 

Bucky grunted and rolled over. Even in such a grungy, grumpy state, he was still devastatingly handsome. 

“Sorry I only invited you over to be bored with me,” Bucky said. 

Steve frowned. 

“I’m not bored,” he said. “I don’t get bored when I’m with you. It’s impossible.” 

“No offense, but it’s been awhile since we’ve hung out, Stevie,” Bucky propped himself up on his  elbows. His leg dangled off of the bed, his toes wiggled and his hands--

“Wait, what’s that on your hand?” Steve asked. Bucky, looking every bit the crook caught red handed, attempted to roll over onto his left arm to hide it from view, but it was futile. “Are you wearing a gauntlet?” Steve asked. 

Maybe Bucky was like Falsworth and Morita and spent one weekend a month LARPing in the park. This brought thoughts of Bucky dressed as a medieval assassin to his mind and, yeah, he’d have to hang onto those for later. 

Bucky blew his hair out of his face and sat up. He was busted, and he knew it. He unzipped his jacket and pulled it off his shoulders. 

Not a gauntlet. His entire left arm was  _ made of metal _ . 

Steve came over and sat on the bed, right beside Bucky. How had he not noticed? Steve liked to think himself a little more observant than that. Sure, he could be kind of dumb about some things, but noticing that his friend was missing an entire arm? 

“It’s a prosthetic,” Bucky explained. 

“No, I know,” Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “Your whole arm?” 

Bucky nodded. 

“What happened?” Steve asked. 

Steve had only ever seen these kinds of prosthetics on his dad’s colleagues. Bucky’s didn’t look like it was top of the line like the ones given to veterans, but it wasn’t exactly a hunk of plastic with a hook on the end either. 

“Baseball,” Bucky said. “Shattered my arm. They tried to operate, but there was too much damage, so…” 

“Shit, Buck,” Steve breathed. ‘Too much damage’ was the kind of thing you said when you were attacked by a shark, not when you got a sports injury. He swallowed back his nerves and asked, “How?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Bucky shrugged back into his hoodie and pulled the zipper all the way up to his throat. 

“Okay,” Steve agreed, though not without his reservations. He wouldn’t push it--he didn’t like it when people nettled him about stuff either--but he logged it away to bring up at another time. 

Just as Steve attempted to change the subject, the basement door rattled and Winnie Barnes’ unmistakable call came down the stairs, “Bucky are you coming up for dinner?” 

“Yeah, ma!” Bucky called back, startling Steve more than he cared to admit, “And Steve’s here!” 

An understandably lengthy pause followed, then the door swung open and Winnie was at the bottom of the stairs. Steve stood, an old habit he’d never broken, and left Winnie staring at Steve like she was seeing a ghost. 

“Not Steve Rogers,” she shook her head. Though silver now streaked her dark hair and she was definitely more ample in places than he remembered, Steve would have recognized her anywhere.

“One in the same, ma’am,” he reassured her. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

“Oh, come here,” she threw her arms out to her sides and attempted to navigate the mess on her son’s floor. Steve met her halfway, and maybe delighted just a little bit in Bucky’s over dramatic  _ ugh _ when Winnie kissed him on the cheek. 

“Well, obviously you’re staying for dinner,” she said, then looked back at Bucky, “You couldn’t tell me Steve Rogers was back in Brooklyn?” 

“Ma, you don’t have to use his full name. He’s not a celebrity,” Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“You don’t know that,” Steve shot back, then winked when Bucky flipped him his metallic middle finger. Steve couldn’t resist saying, “Careful, it might get stuck like that one day.” 

Bucky stuck up his other middle finger too and said, “Worth it.” 

“Well, come on up,” Winnie gestured. “Though, I guess I don’t have to worry about snapping you in half anymore. What were they feeding you out in California?” 

“A steady diet of fresh air and sunshine,” Bucky supplied and stood. 

“Can’t forget the high protein diet,” Steve reminded him, only to laugh when Bucky shoved him on the shoulder and muttered, “Pervert.”

Upstairs, Steve roped Bucky into setting the table. “I don’t care what you normally do,” he said, “Set the table for your mother.” 

“Thank you, Steve,” Winnie said, and Bucky nudged Steve in the ribs.

Steve beamed right on back at him. 

It was hard to explain, but there was something about Bucky that made something inside Steve settle. He was a restless soul--ten pounds of trouble squeezed into a five pound sack. For all Bucky’s outward charm, for all the dumb shit he used to goad Steve into, he actually had a remarkable talent for pulling Steve’s head out of the clouds of righteous anger and back down to earth. 

He was glad to know that so many years of separation hadn’t dulled that feeling. 

“Steve, I thought you couldn’t eat dairy,” Winnie said as Steve sprinkled cheese into his chili. 

“It’s part of his high protein diet,” Bucky snarked back. This time it was Steve who elbowed Bucky in the ribs. 

“I probably shouldn’t,” Steve explained, “But cheese is delicious and worth whatever digestive failings might happen later.” 

  
“Don’t make me go snitching to your mom,” Bucky warned. 

“How is your mother, by the way?” Winnie asked. 

Steve’s stomach bottomed out. 

He’d meant to tell Bucky, honest. It was just so obvious that Bucky was going through some tough times right now and he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. 

“She actually passed last January,” he said, pointedly avoiding Bucky’s eyes. 

“Oh, Steve,” Winnie placed a hand over her heart. “Steve, honey, I am so sorry.”

“What the hell, Rogers?” Bucky demanded. “That’s not something you wanted to share before?” 

“James!” 

Crap, she first-named him. 

“It’s fine,” Steve reassured her and finally looked over at Bucky, “And I didn’t say anything because you--” 

The icy ferocity of Bucky’s gaze pierced through him, and Steve felt for a moment like he might disintegrate on the spot. 

“Because I didn’t want to bother you with it yet,” he finished.

“Bother-- _ yet _ ?” Bucky sputtered. “You don’t bother people with telling them your mom died! That’s--how--” He tried to form the words long before they actually came. 

“I told you about my dad!” he exclaimed. 

“That’s enough, James,” Winnie’s voice rose. Winnie hardly ever raised her voice (and how she managed that with a kid like Bucky, Steve would never know). 

“Ma!” Bucky started to argue his position, but must have realized how fruitless it would have been to pursue it and fell silent. 

“Sorry I didn’t say anything,” Steve said, trying to ignore the way Winnie and Becca looked at them. 

“It’s just…” Bucky started again, but couldn’t seem to find the words that fit what he wanted to say. Instead, he awkwardly tumbled into, “Your  _ mom _ , Steve.” 

“I know!” Steve let his spoon clatter against the lip of his bowl. “It was a dic--bad move,” he corrected. He didn’t want to top this whole reunion off with swearing around Bucky’s mom and kid sister. 

“Boys!” Winnie interjected. 

Both Steve and Bucky looked right at her. 

“Just eat, will you?” she motioned to their bowls. “I’m not getting on your mother’s shit list up in heaven for not feeding you, Steven.” 

Steve’s eyebrows went up. He was suddenly starting to remember one of the other reasons his mom wasn’t all that fond of him hanging out at the Barnes house: Winnie swore up a storm. Not that mom had anything against Winnie, or was squeamish about using rough language herself every once in awhile, but she always made it a point to correct herself. She always reminded Steve that, while accidents happened, it wasn’t an excuse to let your tongue sit in the gutter.

Winnie used swears like people used any other word in the English language, and mom had not been pleased about that. 

“Eat,” she directed him again. 

Steve didn’t need to be told a third time. 

He finished up his bowl of chili, then another, and when everyone was done he offered to do the dishes. He roped Bucky into helping again, and soon they fell into a comfortable rhythm of washing and drying. 

Long after Becca and Winnie had left the kitchen, Bucky cleared his throat. 

“I’m an asshole,” he said. “I’m sorry about your mom.” 

“Buck, it’s fine,” Steve reassured him. 

“I made a joke about it,” Bucky said. “Steve, if anyone made a joke about my dad like that even  _ now-- _ ”

“Well, that’s the difference between you and me,” Steve grinned back, “I have excellent self-control.” 

Bucky snorted, “Buddy, you ain’t even been back a whole week yet and I know that’s not true.” 

Steve grinned even more broadly. 

They finished the dishes and went back downstairs. Bucky moved the junk on and around his dresser, revealing a television set made sometime in the late 90s. He switched it on, then pressed a couple of buttons and soon there was a Nintendo 64 controller in his hands. 

“You still suck at Mario Kart?” Bucky asked. 

“That’s weird,” Steve said, “You talk in the second person that often?” 

Bucky nudged him and Steve nudged back. 

Hours later, when Steve’s eyelids started to droop, Bucky stopped the game and told him that he could sleep over if he wanted. 

He did want, so Bucky gave him a pillow and a blanket and loaned him a pair of sweatpants that at one time would have fallen right off of Steve’s hips. They fit nicely, though, and from the way Bucky stared at him when he flopped back onto the bed, he must have agreed. 

“You gonna sleep?” Steve asked. 

Bucky glanced over at him, uncertainty clouding his features. 

“I’m not tired yet,” he said, which (from the looks of it) he knew was a load of bullshit just as well as Steve did. Bucky was in a permanent state of tired, it seemed, and the fact that he wouldn’t just admit it and sleep for a few hours… Steve tried not to let it bother him, but sometimes even his best efforts weren’t enough. 

“Hey, it’s not sharing a sleeping bag, but it’ll do,” Steve said, only for Bucky to roll his eyes. 

“One time we did that,” he held up his flesh index finger. “Once. And, as you might recall, your mom wasn’t pleased when she found us the next morning.” 

“No, she wasn’t pleased two days later when you came down with a cold,” Steve reminded him, “Because then I got sick.”

“Because you have the immune system of an infant,” Bucky said. 

“Had,” Steve corrected. “You don’t have to worry about getting me sick anymore. Not that you should actively seek out opportunities to get me sick--”

“Yup, that’s me,” Bucky slid down so he was lying beside Steve. He yawned, “Biological warfare is the name of my game.” 

Steve smiled and laid a hand on Bucky’s flesh arm. It wasn’t subtle by any means--in fact, Steve was being so blatantly obvious that Bucky went deadly still. 

Steve withdrew his hand. 

“Sorry,” he said. 

“Shit,” Bucky muttered, but if there was a follow up it never came. 

Maybe it was dumb to think that an eleven-year-old’s crush could ever possibly come to fruition. 

“I’ll sleep upstairs if you want,” Steve sat up. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“No,” Bucky shot up too. “You can stay, I’m--sorry, I’m kinda  jumpy. I haven’t really slept well these last few nights.” 

Steve reminded himself that it wouldn’t do anybody any good to pounce on Bucky and pin him down ‘til he told Steve what was wrong. Apart from being a bad communication technique and an invasion of personal space, it was just plain rude. 

“You’re sure?” Steve asked. 

Bucky nodded. 

“Haven’t had another body in my bed in a while,” he said. “Maybe it’ll help me fall asleep if someone’s doing it next to me. Falling asleep, I mean. Not  _ doing it _ .” 

“I don’t know,” Steve pondered up at the ceiling, “There’s nothing quite like the animalistic grunts of voracious fucking to lull you to sleep.” 

Bucky snorted and clapped. 

The lights went out. 

“You do not have clappers,” Steve laughed. 

“Fuck you,” Bucky settled beside him. “Technology is amazing.” 

Steve chuckled. 

“All right, weirdo,” he said, “Good night.” 

“Good night,” Bucky yawned, then added a halfhearted, “Punk.” 

Steve fell asleep with a big smile on his face. 

**oo**

A loud series of bumps in the night roused Steve. It was still dark outside, and for a moment Steve forgot where he was. 

“Fuck’s sake…” he heard.

Right, he was at Bucky’s. 

“You okay?” Steve asked. That was a hazard of living in piles upon piles of mess--sometimes the mess shifted and you couldn’t navigate it in the dark. 

Bucky didn’t reply, but he must have tried to get up again because soon another bump, and then another, and Steve finally got out of bed to investigate. 

Bucky was at the bottom of the stairs, splayed out over the last four steps or so. He reeked of some sort of hard alcohol that Steve couldn’t place.

Crap. 

“Can you stand up?” Steve asked. 

“‘bviously not,” Bucky slurred. He tried to push himself up but it wasn’t working. Steve had to hook his hands under his arms and hoist up his dead weight. 

“You’re strong,” Bucky mumbled and slumped forward on Steve’s chest. “Real strong. And you smell nice.” 

“Thanks,” Steve said absently. “What’d you drink?” 

“... nothing.” 

Steve raised his eyebrows, though Bucky wouldn’t be able to see it. 

“Buck, you smell like someone tried to sterilize you,” he said. “Just tell me what you drank.” 

“I don’t know, drain cleaner?” Bucky offered. 

A wave of panic hit Steve. Shit, he had to get Bucky to an emergency room and he had to do it now. Who knows how long--

\-- wait, was Bucky laughing?

“Why are you laughing, you asshole?” 

“It was shitty vodka,” Bucky said, “Tasted like drain cleaner.” 

“You shit!” Steve shouted, not caring if he woke Winnie and Becca. “I thought you poisoned yourself!” 

“No such lu--” his body went still, then lurched. 

Uh-oh.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Steve asked. 

Bucky pointed up the stairs, then turned on his heels and scrambled upward with absolute zero grace. Steve followed him, taking the steps two by two, and flipped on the light in the bathroom just as Bucky sank to his knees and purged in the toilet. 

Steve kneeled beside him and pulled his hair back out of the toilet and away from his face. Bucky whined. 

“Why are you here?” he asked. 

“What?” 

“I said, ‘why are you here’?” Bucky repeated into the toilet bowl. 

“Because I am,” Steve said. “You’re my friend.” 

“Was,” Bucky corrected him. “I was your friend. I’m shitty now, Steve.” 

“So are lots of people,” Steve rubbed a soothing hand between Bucky’s shoulder blades. 

Bucky hiccuped, “‘m drunk.” 

“I know,” Steve said. “I’ve got you, though.” 

Bucky choked around a sob. 

“I didn’t ask ‘bout your mom.” 

“You couldn’t have known, Buck,” Steve combed back Bucky’s hair with his fingertips. “I should’ve told you.” 

Bucky’s body heaved again, and another steady stream of vomit poured into the toilet bowl. As soon as he finished, Steve reached up and flushed the toilet. Hopefully there wasn’t anymore, but if there was at least Bucky wouldn’t be puking into his own puke. Everyone deserved to vomit in a(n at least semi-) clean toilet. 

“’m a shitty friend, Steve,” Bucky confessed and sat up. A cool sheen of sweat glistened on his pasty skin. His eyes were pink, swollen, and heavy with the weight of the world. Steve still held most of Bucky’s hair in his one hand. Bucky was sick, but not in the contagious way. He was sick like Morita got sick sometimes, when he would wake up and the whole of the world would be too much to handle. 

Steve grabbed a square of toilet paper and handed it to Bucky, who took it and swiped it over his mouth. 

“You’re not a shitty friend,” Steve said. “You couldn’t be.” 

“No one likes me, Steve,” Bucky tried to hang his head, but Steve still had him by the hair. “I can’t keep my friends.” 

“You kept me,” Steve managed, despite the fact that his heart felt like it was about to explode. How could anyone not like Bucky? 

“You don’t count,” Bucky hiccuped. 

Steve nodded his head once. He said, “I’ll try not to take that to heart.”

“No, not like that,” Bucky whined and tried to pull away. “Shitty friend, Steve. Shitty person.” 

“Hey,” Steve snapped his fingers in front of Bucky’s eyes. Good, he was at least responsive. He continued, “You’re talking about one of my favorite people here, so don’t go writing checks your ass can’t cash.” 

Bucky’s eyes welled up, but he didn’t let any tears come out. 

“You don’t know me, Stevie,” he said softly, almost like he didn’t want to say it at all. 

“Yeah, I do,” Steve kept stroking his hair. “Maybe I don’t know a lot about you anymore, but we can fix that. You’re still you, Buck.” 

Bucky choked on a sob, but still wouldn’t let himself cry. Steve kept his hands moving until Bucky’s breathing steadied a little bit, then placed both hands on his face. Bucky looked him right in the eye. 

“I’m getting you a glass of water, then we’re going to go downstairs and you’re going to sleep this off, okay?” 

Bucky nodded. 

Steve was gone for maybe a minute, and still Bucky had managed to end up face down on the linoleum. He was breathing still, though his hair fanned out like the head of one of those fancy paintbrushes Steve always saw but was too cheap to buy. 

“All right, soldier, up you get,” Steve patted him on the shoulder and helped him sit upright on the toilet seat. He watched as Bucky downed every last drop of water, then made him wait while he got another glass. He watched Bucky down that one too. 

Getting him back down to his room was another challenge. Bucky’s legs worked, though not well enough that he could navigate the shit show that was his bedroom floor. By the time they made it back to the bed, both Steve and Bucky had re-exhausted themselves. 

“Stevie,” Bucky groaned as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

“What’s up, Buck?” 

“Don’t leave?” More a question than a request. Steve reached over and brushed the hair out of his face. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. They’d have to talk about this whole thing later, obviously, when they were both sober and awake, but for now it soothed Steve to know that Bucky was beside him, safe and out of harm’s way.

 

* * *

 

Bucky woke with the distinct feeling of being caught in a spiderweb. He flailed, tried to get out of the grip, but nothing was happening. He was paralyzed. Everything in him told him to starfish his limbs and break free, but he couldn’t. 

His eyelids snapped open. Unfamiliar weight settled on his chest, over his thighs. 

Oh god, he was in bed with Steve Rogers, wasn’t he? 

He looked down, except it wasn’t the flat plane of chest he’d expected. Rather, some big blonde doofus was blocking his view. 

“Steve,” he rested his palm on said big blonde doofus’ head. God, what was wrong with him? His mouth tasted like shit and his whole body was covered in sweat, and he had the very distinct feeling that it wasn’t because of the human radiator that was wrapped around him like a damn octopus. 

Bits and pieces started coming back to him. 

He’d made a total dick out of himself at dinner--he remembered that. Steve tried to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal, but that was just how Steve was. He was kind, he’d always been kind. That’s why he stuck around after dinner and played video games with him. That’s why, when Bucky offered him a place to crash, he couldn’t say ‘no’. 

The rest of the night hit Bucky like a freight train. 

Steve may have passed out, but Bucky tossed and turned for at least an hour. He hadn’t wanted to wake Steve, so he’d slipped out of bed and rifled around in his dresser until he’d found it: the Smirnoff. 

When anyone on the team needed booze, Rumlow was the guy they went to. He had a fake ID and all the confidence of a sadistic psychopath; no one ever questioned him on his age (or on anything else, really). 

Ugh, now Bucky was starting to remember why he’d polished off what had been left in the bottle. 

Of course, then he’d gotten smashed and Steve had to take him to the bathroom and hold his hair back while he ralphed. 

Even dealing with Bucky being a drunken mess, Steve had been nothing but sweet. There wasn’t a damn thing that guy could say that didn’t just turn Bucky inside out.

Steve shifted; his grip went lax, then tightened. He took in a deep breath right on Bucky’s chest, and shit, Bucky must have reeked. 

“Steve,” he said again, patting Steve harder this time.

“Mm--y’re cozy,” Steve yawned. “How’s your head?” 

“Surprisingly okay, I think,” Bucky replied, though to be honest he wasn’t sure. “Some asshole made me drink a bunch of water last night, so I’ll probably be fine.” 

Steve chuckled and seemed to nuzzle into him even further. 

That’s it. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, and suddenly his cheeks started to burn. God, he’d gotten  _ plastered _ and Steve just--

“You’re good, Buck, take it easy,” Steve yawned into his chest. “Said some pretty nasty things about yourself, though.” 

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Do you remember?” 

“Yeah, I fuckin’ remember,” Bucky snipped. How he managed to be irritated with Steve Rogers wrapped around him was a freaking mystery in itself. No pitter patter of his heart, no butterflies, not even a morning salute from the world’s most inconvenient flagpole. 

“I won’t make you talk about it,” Steve said, because  _ of course he wouldn’t _ . “But I’m not gonna forget.” 

He looked up and they locked eyes. This was closer to the way Bucky remembered things: Steve barely as high as his chest, craning his head up to meet Bucky’s eye. It only lasted about half a second. Steve wasn’t a mind-reader, but there was no way he (or anyone) could look at Bucky and not see him for the walking void he really was. 

“Bucky,” Steve’s hand came up to cup his cheek. “Just wake me up before you’re about to do something stupid next time, okay? I don’t mind.” 

“Yeah, you wanna stay over every night?” Bucky laughed, even though he was only half joking. 

“Here,” Steve grunted and patted around until he found his phone. 

The room was actually kind of freezing without Steve blanketing him. 

“I put my phone on Do Not Disturb after ten o’clock so people can’t wake me up, but if I add you to my favorites,” Steve narrated as he swiped and tapped his phone’s screen. He let out a triumphant laugh and turned it so Bucky could see, “You’re on my favorites list now, and I have it so my favorites ring through my Do Not Disturb, okay? Bucky Barnes can call me any time and the phone will ring.” 

Bucky tried not to let on just how hard his eyes were burning. 

“You’re somethin’ else, Rogers, y’know that?” he asked. 

“Something else… in a good way?” Steve’s eyebrows went up. 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. Was it good? He couldn’t tell. It wasn’t  _ bad _ , and it certainly wasn’t  _ not _ good. 

“Something else in a very you way,” Bucky replied as diplomatically as possible. 

Steve pondered this for a moment, then shrugged. “Y’know what? I’ll take it.” 

And, as promised, that was the end of it. Steve stayed for breakfast, then excused himself almost immediately after. Bucky stood with mom and Becca as Steve got on his bike, gave them a final wave and then rode away. 

“He’s handsome,” mom said. 

“Ma!” 

“She’s not wrong, Bucky,” Becca pointed out. 

“I know!” Bucky snapped. “God, just let me think for a second.” 

“What’s to think about?” mom argued. “He’s a good boy. When’s the last time I saw you smile like you did last night? I heard laughter coming from your room, James Buchanan.” 

“Ouch, both barrels,” Becca hissed. 

“Rebecca,” mom warned. 

Becca motioned a zipper over her lips. 

Mom turned back to him, then continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted, “Maybe Steve’s good for you.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky replied.  _ Too good _ , and that was the problem. 

At least that shitty bottle of vodka was finally gone. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Wait, already? That’s insane.” 

“It’s AP Government,” Natasha shrugged, “It’s supposed to be insane.”

Dread filled Bucky to his core. He didn’t make it a habit of talking to Natasha, but they sat next to each other in first period AP Lit and she was one of very few people that Bucky could still remotely stand. The fact that they’d hooked up before everything had gone to shit notwithstanding, she was a fairly tolerable person. Probably because she didn’t try so hard, you know? Either you liked her or you didn’t, and neither made much of a difference to her. That was rare in this world. 

“Man,” Bucky buried his face in his hands. “I fucking hate group work.” 

“Join the club,” Natasha said. “Why do you think I do Track & Field? Everyone else can go fuck themselves.” 

“You got the right idea,” Bucky replied. “So, she just pairs us up with someone?” 

“... have you never done group work before?” Natasha raised a manicured brow. 

“I have, I just--” he stopped himself. Natasha didn’t need to know that he didn’t want to get paired with Steve. Because then she would ask why, and why didn’t he want to get paired with Steve? How about,  _ ‘because I made a total cock of myself in front of him _ ’? How’s that? Between his mom being dead (which will probably make Bucky feel like an asshole until the day  _ he  _ dies) and getting fall-down drunk in front of him, and then Steve insisting every fucking day that it was okay, he just couldn’t fucking do it. 

He couldn’t. 

Steve was too nice, and people who were too nice got swindled into doing things they didn’t want to do all the freaking time. The last thing anyone needed was for Steve to be forced to hang out with him because a teacher paired them together. 

Lit dragged on, as did AP Stats right after. As soon as the bell rang, Bucky high-tailed it down to the second floor and nearly skidded to a halt in front of Ms. Roberts’ classroom. 

“Bucky,” she greeted, genial though unsure of what the hell was going on as he busted through the door. “Is everything all right?” 

“I heard about the project,” Bucky said. 

“Oh?” 

It must have been a sight--the portly Ms. Roberts all bug-eyed at the grease-ball, lank-haired senior with more baggage under his eyes than a jet at JFK approaching her desk. 

“You can’t pair me with Steve Rogers,” he said. 

“Really?” Ms. Roberts asked. “Why’s that?” 

“I’d rather not get into it, if you don’t mind,” said Bucky. “Let’s just say, I feel it would be detrimental to my and his learning processes if we were to work together.” 

Despite the fact that Bucky would have killed to have Steve to himself for hours at a time. He couldn’t force Steve to hang out with him. He just couldn’t. 

“Well, if it means that much to you,” Ms. Roberts jotted a note on her seating chart for fourth period. “Don’t let on to the others, though. I can’t have everyone picking and choosing their partners. Nothing will ever get done.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky nodded. Ugh, hanging out with Steve was already morphing him back into a sycophantic little twat. 

The little voice in his head (which, he realized, had always sounded remarkably like Steve) piped up to remind him,  _ hey, that’s not such a bad thing to be. _

Except it was the worst thing to be, because all he wanted was to get through this last year of his shit show life before he spontaneously combusted. 

“See you in fourth period, Bucky,” Ms. Roberts smiled at him. 

“See you,” Bucky agreed. 

Okay, well, that was at least one problem solved. 

Which was, of course, why he walked right into another problem as soon as he rounded the corner into the main hallway. 

Brock Rumlow was, by all accounts, a raging sack of flaming assholes. He hadn’t always been that way, which was the problem. He was actually halfway decent once upon a time. Between oozing unearned self-confidence and a decent sense of humor, you wouldn’t really seek out his friendship but you wouldn’t exactly reject it either. That’s why, when they both wound up on the baseball team, Bucky hadn’t been as hesitant as he should have been to become his friend. 

“Barnes,” Rumlow’s lips curled over his teeth. “Good to see you.” 

Bucky’s entire body went still. Oh, except for his chest. He was pretty sure that was caving in. Rumlow wasn’t all that much bigger than him, but Bucky couldn’t help but feel three inches tall in his presence. 

“What do you want?” Bucky asked, avoiding eye contact. If he looked at him, he’d get sick all over again. 

“Nothing,” Rumlow shrugged. “Just wanted to see how your summer was.” 

He reached out to pat Bucky on the shoulder, but Bucky took a giant step back. 

“Oh, I get it,” Rumlow nodded. “Well, that’s fine. I think I can venture a guess.” 

“I’m late,” Bucky said, not even bothering to think up a whole lie. He turned around and attempted to hightail it the fuck out of there, but, lo and behold, Johann Schmidt stood behind him. 

Yep, his chest was definitely caving in. 

“Barnes,” he greeted. Schmidt had moved from Berlin to Brooklyn the same year they’d started high school. He was smart, he was athletic, and he had the eyebrows and sneer of a fucking supervillain. 

“Guys, I don’t want any trouble,” Bucky said, not looking at either of them. 

“Neither do we,” Rumlow came to stand by Schmidt. “Just want to make sure we understand each other.” 

Bucky swallowed, hard. 

Rumlow continued, “Just making sure that all of our understandings remain understood.” 

“Hey, cock-jocks!” 

Bucky whipped around to the source of the voice. 

Wade Wilson was… an interesting guy. Acne scars riddled his face otherwise quite handsome face, but hey, you wanted to talk about the confidence of a serial killer? Wade had Rumlow almost evenly matched. 

“What the fuck do you want, Wilson?” Rumlow spat. 

“Oh, what does anyone want?” Wade shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Good pizza, good weed, good head… preferably all three at once. The real question is: how do you two assholes have your asshole heads so far up your own actual assholes? You open your mouths and it’s just assholes inside of assholes inside of assholes. Asshole-ception, if you will.” 

Rumlow and Schmidt glanced at each other, then back at Wade. 

“By my count, you’re three assholes deep,” Wade said. “Not that I’d be complaining in any other circumstance. How about you leave Barnes the fuck alone and I don’t have to go medieval on your asshole-filled assholes.” 

Wade was one of those people who would talk and talk until he lost his voice. And even then, he’d gesture so emphatically in American Sign Language that you’d have to duck to keep yourself from getting whacked in the face. 

“Go on,” Wade waved them along. “Skedaddle. Before I drop a house on you.” 

“Whatever,” Rumlow muttered. He and Schmidt backed away from Bucky, though Rumlow still felt the need to run right into Wade’s shoulder and mutter, “Nice face.” 

“Thanks!” Wade called after them. “Your mom thought so too! Rode it nice and hard all night long.” 

He made a ‘v’ with his fingers and tongued it obscenely. Rumlow and Schmidt looked like they might kick his ass in any other circumstance, but Wade was a wild card and they knew that. Sometimes he fought fair, and other times he brought a gun to a knife fight, and it was a bad idea to roll those dice. 

As soon as they were out of view, Wade turned to Bucky and gave him a wink. 

“Thanks,” Bucky said. 

“Yeah, well, when assgoblins come a-knockin’,” Wade shrugged. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have some business to attend to up on the roof. Stay golden, hot lips.” 

He patted Bucky on the cheek and skipped--fucking  _ skipped _ \--to the stairwell. 

Bucky slid down the wall he’d been backed up against and buried his face in his knees. 

Maybe if he tried really hard, he could disappear right here, right now. 

Suddenly, being paired with Steve didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Too bad he fucked himself right out of that, just like he fucked himself out of everything else.

 

* * *

 

“All right, let’s see,” Ms. Roberts had tapped her pencil on her clipboard. “Why don’t we have Bruce and Clint, then Bucky and... Natasha.” 

Steve’s heart had plummeted. As dumb as it was, the second Ms. Roberts had said ‘group project’, Steve had hoped she’d pair him with Bucky. She knew they were friends--she let them sit next to one another, for crying out loud--but it looked like she wasn’t going to cut anybody any slack. She knew Bruce and Tony were friends too, and Clint and Natasha. This was just going to be one of those learning experiences that Steve didn’t want to have, but would suffer through anyway. 

Still, he didn’t know why he had to be paired with Tony Stark, of all people. 

The rest of week two had passed without much incident. Steve hung close to Bucky at lunchtime and in homeroom, worried but not letting on. Bucky obviously had a very complicated relationship with himself that Steve was dying to understand, if only so he could fix it. 

Somewhere in the distance of his subconscious, Sarah Rogers’ voice reminded him,  _ “It’s not your job to fix anyone but yourself.” _

This wouldn’t stop him, but it was worth it to remember that it wasn’t his obligation. He wanted to help Bucky, because Bucky was his friend and a good person and deserved to like himself even one tenth as much as Steve liked him. 

Friday after school, Steve texted Tony. 

_ ‘Can we work on the first part of the project tonight?’ _

_ ‘Im sorry do i know you’ _

_ ‘It’s Steve Rogers. I’m your partner for our AP Government media project.’  _

_ ‘Nope doesnt ring a bell.’ _

Steve promptly changed his name in his phone from  _ ‘Tony’  _ to a series of those smiling pile of shit emojis, because that’s basically what he was dealing with. 

_ ‘Okay rogers my place after school? You bring the wine coolers and ill be in the boudoir. Fair warning tho im not 18 til may so keester the condoms otherwise chris hansen will have a field day’  _

See? Little shit emojis. 

_ ‘I’m not 18 until July so you can put that one away right now.’  _

_ ‘ooh i never get to be the older woman what a treat’  _

So that may have been why Steve showed up on Tony Stark’s stoop in a less than agreeable mood. Like just about everyone else in Brooklyn, he lived in an old brownstone. For some reason, he’d pegged Tony for the downtown Manhattan loft type. He certainly had the attitude of some kid who had more money than he knew what to do with. 

Steve rang the doorbell and stared up at the awning above the door. It was just a project, Tony was just another person, and a person, however douchey, deserved a fair chance. 

He did, however, text Bucky to say,  _ ‘Why is Tony Stark such an incorrigible douche?’ _

The door swung open before Bucky replied, revealing Tony wearing what he’d worn at school that day. Steve had expected something a little more… he didn’t want to say ‘playboy’, but Steve had no doubt that Tony owned a crushed velvet smoking jacket. 

“Welcome to my abode, Rogers,” Tony stepped aside. His  _ For Those About to Rock _ t-shirt and the chains dripping off his ratty jeans were offset by his bare feet and his unmistakable bedhead. 

“Were you asleep?” Steve asked. 

“I have sixth off,” Tony yawned and motioned for him to step inside. “And I lead a very busy life otherwise, so sometimes I take a nap to catch up on sleep. I didn’t realize I was gonna be interrogated by the freaking morality police.” 

“I’m not the morality police,” Steve muttered, only for the rest of his retort to die in his throat. The entryway was immaculate, decked out with gorgeous modern art pieces that left Steve awestruck. 

“Docent’s out for the weekend,” Tony said. “You’ll have to schedule a tour during regular museum hours.” 

Steve leveled a look that did not seem to phase Tony in the slightest. 

“What?” Tony shrugged. “I thought you came here to work. Despite the fact that this isn’t due until December.”

“Things can get busy really fast,” said Steve. “I don’t want to try to do this all in the weekend before it’s due.” 

Tony rolled his eyes, “Where’s the adventuresome spirit? Where’s the lust for life? Where the fuck is the  _ diem _ and why do you refuse to  _ carpe _ ?” 

Steve squinted, “What in the hell are you talking about?” 

Tony sighed, “Nothing. Come on, let’s set up shop in the kitchen.” 

It just then hit Steve that Tony didn’t live in a brownstone just like everyone else. Tony lived in a brownstone by himself (or, with his family, Steve supposed). The entire building was one living space.

He marveled out loud, “Holy shit.” 

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Tony said as he led Steve into the kitchen. The whole back wall had been knocked out and replaced by windows. The counters and appliances were sleek and modern. Screens blipped on the refrigerator and the oven, and the dishwasher beeped and then, in a surprisingly non-tinny voice, reminded Tony,  _ “Five minutes until final cycle is complete.”  _

“Are you washing dishes or plotting world domination?” Steve asked. 

“Are the two mutually exclusive?” Tony posed back, then tugged open the refrigerator door. He asked, “What’s your poison? I’ve got coffee and tea, either iced or hot, got soda… looks like Sprite, 7-Up, Coke, diet Coke, Pepsi--you know what? Soda. We have any kind of soda you could think of. I’d offer you something harder, but my dad keeps a close eye on his booze.” 

“Really?” Steve asked. His dad wasn’t much of a drinker; if a few beers went missing from their fridge, he’d definitely notice. “I’d think someone who drinks a lot wouldn’t notice if some of it went missing.”

“I never said my dad drinks a lot,” said Tony, “He’s just a fucking miser about it. Do you want something to drink or not?” 

“Just water,” Steve replied. 

Two seconds later, Tony thwacked a bottle of Fuji onto the counter with a decidedly more-hostile-than-necessary, “Fucking nerd.”

Steve grabbed his phone out of his pocket and checked, but Bucky hadn’t texted him back. 

Fine then. 

Peggy had texted him, though, confirming after an earlier conversation that she too would love to set up a Skype date with him very soon. God, he missed her. Few people could put things into perspective like Peggy could. 

“Who’s Peggy?” 

Steve jumped out of his skin, not appreciating at all the fact that Tony was reading his texts over his shoulder… or, given their height difference, around his shoulder. 

“None of your business,” Steve said, then backtracked, “A friend.” 

“A friend-friend or a special friend?” Tony asked. 

“Again,f none of your business,” said Steve. 

“Aw, was she your best gal back home?” Tony’s smile turned dulcet, saccharine. “C’mon, Stevie, you can tell me.”

“Don’t call me that,” Steve said. “And for the last time, it’s none of your business.”

“Lemme guess,” Tony held up a finger, “Beard? Because honestly, you make the ladies drool, but the only person I’ve seen you hard for so far is that bucking bronco Barnes.” 

“You’re gonna swallow your teeth if you don’t shut the fuck up!” Steve snapped, red starting to sear the edge of his vision. 

Whoops. 

Tony’s eyebrows ran up into his hairline, leaving his brown eyes big and round as tea saucers. 

“Damn, Rogers,” he said. 

“Sorry,” Steve grabbed the water off of the counter and twisted off the cap with inhuman ease. He drained half the bottle in one go. He set it back down and said, “So, the assignment?” 

“Yes, right,” Tony snapped his fingers. “Responsible students. That’s what we are. Hang tight, I’ll grab my shit from my room.” 

Tony disappeared, leaving Steve to both text Peggy a time for a Skype date, then Bucky in a desperate attempt to hang onto his sanity. 

_ ‘HELP ME PLEASE’  _

Bucky texted back immediately,  _ ‘Oh god, what’s happening?’  _

_ ‘Stark is driving me up the ridiculously high walls of his fucking mansion.’  _

_ ‘... you’re really going to abdicate the opportunity to say he’s driving you stark raving mad?’  _

_ ‘I don’t like you.’  _

_ ‘yes you do’  _

_ ‘I know, it’s a problem.’  _

_ ‘Did you mean, a **wonderful gift from god.’  _

_ ‘You don’t know me.’  _

Steve chuckled to himself when Bucky returned a string of emojis that, while nonsensical, seemed to convey precisely what words couldn’t in that moment. 

Tony came back into the kitchen with his backpack and a bag of potato chips tucked under his arm, whistling merrily. 

“All right, so what’s first on the agenda?” he asked. He sat down at the island counter beside Steve and pulled his notebook from the trash heap at the bottom of his bag. 

“Uh, do you put anything away?” Steve asked. 

Tony shook his head and explained, “Interferes with the creative process.” 

“Creative process? Don’t you build robots and stuff in your spare time?” 

Tony looked up at him, an indecipherable look on his face before he came to his conclusion and said, “Steve, you ignorant slut.”

_ “What _ ?” 

“You don’t think building robots requires at least a modicum of creativity? I might not be able to draw the face of my beloved on my notes--” Tony indicated the rough sketch of definitely-not-Bucky in Steve’s notebook (which Steve did not hastily turn over, thank you) “--but if you think creativity is limited to fine art, you are sorely mistaken.”

He crunched through another handful of chips. 

Maybe that comment had been sort of uncalled for. 

“I never thought about it like that,” Steve admitted. 

“Divergent thinking, my friend,” Tony said. “That’s all that creativity is. See a need that no one’s filled yet, find a way to fill it. Necessity is the mother of invention.”

Another handful of chips. 

“Did you call me an ignorant slut?” Steve asked. 

“Mm,” Tony nodded, “You’re right. Doesn’t really fit you, does it? Ignorant, maybe, but slut? Eh.” 

Just as Steve opened his mouth to retort, Tony’s phone buzzed. He looked it over, paused, thought for a few moments, then typed back. Steve would have made a snarky comment about it, but he remembered he hadn’t texted Bucky back yet. 

_ ‘You know what you should do? Come over here and bail me out of this hellhole.’  _

_ ‘Fuck you, come up with your own excuse. Plus, Natasha and i are working on ours tonight too.’  _

_ ‘Then come work on it here. Please, I can’t be alone with him. He’s infuriating.’  _

_ ‘What could he possibly be doing, pelting you to death with $100 bills?’  _

_ ‘... no, but do you think he would?’  _

“Hey,” Steve shut off his phone screen. “You think Bucky could come over? He and Natasha are working on their project tonight too.”

Tony let out a laugh. 

“Please,” he said. “You think I’m just gonna let you and Barnes come over here and cavort in my home? I thought we were working, not turning tonight into some sort of… anal jamboree.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes. 

“Anal jamboree?” 

“Well, what else would you call it?” Tony raised his eyebrows expectantly. “You’re hard for Barnes, he’s probably hard for you, and I don’t need anyone fucking in my house tonight. Unless it’s me.” 

Steve blinked, “Sorry, I’m still stuck on ‘anal jamboree’.” 

“I know, right?” 

“What would that even look like?” Steve asked. 

“Terrifying. Won’t have it in my house.”

Steve glared at him, though he did have to admit that yes, they were supposed to be working. Bucky, while relieving a lot of Steve’s stress about being alone with Tony Stark: World’s Most Irritating  TM , would have ultimately been a distraction. 

“Okay, so.” Tony began anew, “I was thinking we just split it up, easy-peasy.” 

“That’s literally the first thing it says not to do,” Steve said, then underlined it in the instructions for further proof. “We’re just gonna have to go through it piece by piece together.”

“Hmmm no,” Tony frowned, then shook his head. “No, no I don’t want to do that at all. That sounds like the opposite of what I want to do.”

Steve sighed, “Join the club.”

Silence fell between them as they read over the assignment requirements. Normally, Steve would just dive in and worry about the parameters later, but it seemed that Tony was of the same mind. As much as Steve hated to admit it, someone had to be the sensible one. 

A door open and shut somewhere in the house. Steve looked up, searching for the source. A parade of footsteps followed, accompanied by the sound of more than one voice. 

“Is someone else here?” Steve asked.

“Yep,” Tony replied without looking up, and offered no further explanation. 

The kitchen then gained not one, not two, but four more bodies--one of whom Steve was more than pleased to see.

“Damn, Stark!” Clint marveled, bracketed on either side by Natasha and Bruce. “I knew you had money, but this place is ridiculous.” 

Bucky, on the other side of Natasha, stared Steve directly in the face and mouthed,  _ “Help me”. _

“I thought you said he couldn’t come,” Steve turned an accusatory glare at Tony, who held up a finger. 

“First off, phrasing,” he said, at which Bruce rolled his eyes, “Second, I told Bruce to come over. How the hell did you three get involved?” 

“I told you we were working,” Bruce replied. “You said you didn’t give a shit and to just come over.” 

“I meant I didn’t give a shit about him,” Tony gestured at Clint (who let out a sullen, “aw…”). “That wasn’t a green light to invite him over here.”

“Whoops,” Bruce shrugged, not looking in the least bit sorry. 

“And I’m still not getting how these two got involved,” Tony’s emphatic gestures turned on Natasha and Bucky. 

“Clint invited me,” Natasha said. “And Bucky and I were working, so I invited him.”

“It’s an impromptu study party,” Clint smiled. “The best kind.” 

“I’m perfectly amenable to this,” Steve said, “Just for the record.”

Tony, however, looked as though he’d just been run through the gut with a serrated knife. 

“You come into  _ my _ home--”

“Your dad’s home,” Bruce corrected, now invested in grabbing something from the refrigerator. “And I’m not the one who was bitching about being alone with…” 

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and scrolled until he found, “Wholesome, corn-fed, all-American, transplanted midwestern farm boy Steve Rog--”

Bucky barked a laugh as Steve told Tony, “I’m  _ from  _ Brooklyn, ace.” 

Natasha made no move to hide her smile, while Clint and Bucky both laughed outright. 

“Whatever,” Tony muttered, then narrowed his eyes at Bruce. “Traitor.” 

Bruce shrugged and took a long gulp out of a bottle of V8. 

Steve wrinkled his nose, then realized, “How did you get in here?” 

Bruce lowered the bottle. “My key?” he offered, as though it was obvious. 

“You have a key to Tony’s house?” Natasha asked. 

“He’s got a key to my house,” Bruce said. “Not that he’s ever used it.” 

“The place is like a museum,” Tony said, as though reciting, “It’s very beautiful and very cold, and you’re not allowed to touch anything.” 

“I am  _ not  _ Cameron,” Bruce insisted. 

“You are so Cameron,” Tony argued back. “You’re not only Cameron, but you’re also Jeannie. You’re Cam-Jeannie and I’m Ferris and you can’t decide if you’re jealous of me or if you want to be me.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes, while Steve asked, “Are you… what’s happening?” 

Five sets of eyes landed on him all at once. 

“Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?” Tony said, meant to be a reminder. All it did was make Steve’s shoulders inch up towards his ears. 

“I’ve never seen it,” he said. 

“How!” Tony demanded. “How have you never seen--that’s--are you even human?” 

He then sobered and placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “Steve, it’s important that you be one hundred percent real with me right now. Are you an android or cyborg or in any way affiliated with the impending robot uprising?” 

Steve spared a look at Bucky, who had his flesh hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep himself quiet, and then looked back at Tony. 

Without so much as a smile, he replied, “Zero-zero-one-zero-one-one-one.” 

Bruce almost spat out his juice 

“That’s it,” Tony smacked the counter and stood. “Everyone in the fucking den right now. We’re watching Ferris Bueller and I better not hear one of you yutzes complain.” 

Steve (and everyone else) looked to Bruce for some sort of explanation, but the second Tony was out of the room Bruce just shook his head. 

“Forget it, we couldn’t stop him if we wanted to,” he said, then beckoned everyone to follow him. Both Natasha and Clint followed, but Bucky idled. He kept his left arm obscured around the others, but now that it was just him and Steve, he took it out of his sweater pocket and ran both hands through his hair. 

The metal fingers snagged on a couple of tresses and he hissed. 

_ “Fuck _ .”

“Hang on,” Steve lept into action. Gently, he detangled Bucky’s (admittedly lank and greasy) hair from the edges of the metal. 

“I don’t know why I came here,” Bucky muttered. “Nat said I didn’t have to, but…” 

“Hey,” Steve placed his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “I’ve got my bike and an extra helmet. You say the word and we’re out of here.” 

Bucky looked him in the eye for a fraction of a second before he nodded and licked his lips and stepped out of Steve’s hold. No lie, it was a little disappointing for someone like Steve, who was a firm believer in the healing power of physical contact, but he didn’t want Bucky to feel uncomfortable, so he let it slide. 

“C’mon, let’s go find everyone else,” Steve tossed his head in an invitation to follow. 

As it turned out, nobody made it to the den. Rather, they’d all stopped off at a room at the end of the hallway. Bruce and Natasha stood with their backs to the door source, while (from what Steve could hear) Tony and Clint marvelled at something inside. The light inside spilled out, bathing its surroundings in bright purple. 

“I-I mean just-- _ holy shit! _ ” 

“Clint, stop embarrassing yourself,” Natasha said, eyes fixed on the painting opposite the open door. 

“What’s going on?” asked Steve. 

“Tony’s showing off his grow room,” Natasha turned a tired look on both him and Bucky. 

“Grow room?” Steve repeated. 

“Hey hey hey!” Tony’s head popped out from behind the door jamb. “What did I say about telling Captain Righteous?” 

“I’m not righteous!” Steve argued. To prove his point, he stalked right over to the door and, okay, maybe balked a little when he saw the scope of the operation going on within. Purple lights hung from the ceiling, giving the hearty marijuana plants an even more alien look. Each plant had reflective surfaces surrounding, ensuring the maximum amount of light for the plants to absorb. On top of that, the air in the room hung thick with that signature skunky, earthy aroma, leaving Steve dizzy where he stood. 

“Holy shit,” he just stared. 

“Right?!” Clint’s eyebrows were way up on his forehead. He pranced around the room like a kid in a candy store, going from plant to plant in a game of Name the Strain with Tony. 

“But wait,” Bucky said from a little further back, “Don’t your parents ever come in here?” 

“Mom’s dead, dad’s never here,” Tony replied, inspecting one plant in particular. “Sometimes my Uncle Happy comes around, but that’s only if my dad’s gone for a really long time.”

“‘Uncle Happy’?” Clint asked. 

“That’s not a real person,” Natasha said. 

“He is too,” Tony scowled at her. “Tell me who is and isn’t real… please.” 

“Hey, as long as we’re not working,” said Clint. “What if--hear me out--we watched Ferris Bueller but also we were super duper high while we did it.” 

“This stuff’s too wet to smoke,” Tony told him. “Y’know, being that it’s still part of a live plant.” 

“I know not  _ this  _ stuff,” Clint rolled his eyes. “But if you’re growing like this, I know you’ve got something smokable somewhere in this ginormous mansion.” 

Tony looked at Bruce, who took more than a few seconds to realize Tony was waiting for his input. He looked up from his phone and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and asked, “What?” 

“Where’d you hide my stash?” Tony asked. 

“Hide your what?” Bruce very obviously feigned innocence. 

“Don’t dick around, Banner,” Tony warned. “I am entertaining and trying to be a gracious host. Where’s my weed?” 

“I’ve never seen your stash before in my life,” Bruce shook his head and went back to looking at his phone. 

“Why would he hide it?” Clint asked. 

“Because someone smokes like a damn chimney and he’s gonna run out before the next harvest,” Bruce explained. Then, as if summoning by magic, he pulled a baggie out of his pocket and tossed it to Tony. 

“Why was it there?” Natasha frowned. 

Bruce shrugged, and no one felt that merited more explanation. 

The scope of Tony’s house was overwhelming, and Steve reminded himself to explore it at some point. He stuck close to Bucky as Tony led everyone into the den--a room larger than Steve’s childhood apartment--and directed them all to take a seat while he fiddled with the home theater contraptions. 

“Hey, you got any rolling papers?” Clint asked as he opened the bag Bruce had pulled from his pocket. 

“Yep,” Tony replied as Bruce retrieved them from under a couch cushion. 

“This smells amazing,” Clint gave a happy sigh and closed the entirety of the bag over his face. He sniffed so hard the bag scrunched against his nose. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Natasha said. 

“Yeah, ridiculously sober,” Clint muttered. He plucked a bud from the bag with the same care and attention that Steve had seen Morita give so many times before. He didn’t start smoking with his friends until his mom passed away, knowing full well that she would’ve wrung the life out of him had he done it any sooner. 

“So, Cap,” Tony said, still fiddling. 

“Stop calling me Captain Righteous,” Steve frowned. 

“Can’t,” Tony replied. “It’s your name now. I dub thee ‘Captain Righteous, the Chaste’.” 

Without missing a beat, Steve asked, “Do you really think I’m a virgin?” 

“Aren’t you?” Bucky frowned. He’d sat right next to Steve, but had said so little that Steve (and everyone else, apparently) had forgotten he was there. 

Everyone was back to staring expectantly at him, and Steve couldn’t even be proud of himself when he said, “No.” 

Tony planted his hands on his hips, a calculating look on his face before he concluded (correctly), “Peggy.”

“Who’s Peggy?” Bucky asked. 

Great. He couldn’t even play it off now; everyone was looking at him, waiting. 

“She was my girlfriend in San Diego,” Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “We broke it off when I found out I was moving back here.” 

“And you fucked her,” Tony smirked. “Nice.”

“Watch it,” Steve warned. Uh-oh, he was starting to get that anger knot in his belly. “We had sex, Stark.”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Tony looked to Bruce for reassurance. 

“No, you said I fucked her,” Steve explained. “That makes it sound creepy, like… you fuck some _ thing _ . You have sex  _ with  _ some _ one _ . You fuck a fleshlight, not a person.”

Steve was well aware that everyone was staring even more intently now. His cheeks burned, because even Bucky was looking at him with this unreadable expression, and had no one really thought about the semantics of the phrase ‘You fucked her’ before? 

“That’s a really good point, Steve,” Clint said then, crumbled up pot sticking to the pads of his fingers. He raised a fist for Steve to bump with a, “Right on.” 

Steve bumped him back. 

“Well, fine,” Tony held up his hands. “You  _ had sex _ with Peggy, who I’m not convinced isn’t actually a ninety eight year old woman.” 

Bruce cleared his throat, which Tony took as his cue to stop. 

“Yeah,” Steve said though. “We did.”

And that was it. That was all anyone needed to know--more than they needed to know, actually, but Steve tried not to hold it against them. Sex held a power over people their age, and if he could get away with revealing as little as possible then all the better. 

“I’ve had sex before,” Clint must have felt compelled to mention. 

“Yeah, with yourself,” Tony shot back. 

“Nah, I’ve done that tons of times,” Clint waved him off. Somehow he’d managed to roll a pretty decent looking joint while all this was happening. He held out his hand and Natasha gave him a lighter out of her pocket. 

Clint lit the joint and took a few drags, until the tip glowed a bright, steady orange. 

“Thing is,” he passed the joint to Natasha, who took one puff before passing it to Tony, who now stood behind her. “It wasn’t all that great? I mean, it wasn’t terrible, but I wasn’t exactly champing at the bit to do it again.” 

Natasha exhaled an impressive plume of smoke, “Maybe you didn’t do it right.” 

“What’s to do right?” Tony asked. “For a guy anyway. Stick dick in orifice, thrust, release.” 

“An oversimplification if I ever heard one,” Bruce chimed in. Tony handed the joint to him, but not before flipping him off. 

“I thought you were ace, Bruce,” said Nat. 

“Yeah, but I had sex once,” Bruce took a hit and blew it out, “It was awful.” 

“Shut up,” Natasha sat upright, voice still on its same nonchalant frequency. “Who?” 

“None of your business,” Bruce frowned, then passed the joint to Steve. 

_ Here goes nothing _ . 

Steve took a deep drag off of the joint, swearing internally as ash fell off of the end and onto his jeans. 

“I’m sorry,” said Bucky, “Did your asthma just disappear all of a sudden?” 

“Cannabinoids have actually been proven to have anti-inflammatory properties,” Bruce chimed in. “And also acts as a bronchodilator, which means it actually helps open up the bronchioles instead of constricting them further. The research on a lot of it is still in the primordial stages, but it’s pretty interesting. I haven’t had to use my inhaler in a long time and I smoke pot with this genius pretty regularly. Pretty… pretty… Why do I keep saying ‘pretty’?”

“Not regularly enough,” Tony shook his head. “Fucking lightweight.” 

It was true, though, what Bruce said. Steve had never once had an asthma issue after he’d smoked. It could get a little harsh if you weren’t careful, but it would clear up and, in some cases, he’d actually been able to breathe better. 

He finally exhaled and offered the joint between his fingers to Bucky. 

“I don’t know,” he said. 

“I’ve seen you smoke,” Natasha piped up. 

“Yeah, but I haven’t in awhile,” Bucky turned his unsure gaze onto Steve, who, already starting to feel the effects, just smiled right back. 

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you, but if you don’t want to nobody’s going to make you.” 

He turned a pointed (though probably goofy) look at Tony. 

Bucky took the joint from Steve and drew in a shallow drag, then handed it right back. He exhaled and said, “I’ll start with that.” 

There’s a certain time warp you enter into when you smoke pot. Steve doesn’t know how or why he tends to forget this, but he does. Your brain slows while the world keeps speeding on by. People talk and you listen, but you don’t really understand until it’s too late, and don’t form a response until it’s even later, and at that point you really may as well just sink the rest of the way into the couch and let yourself be for a while. 

Or, if given the opportunity, melt into the surly greaseball next to you and smile incessantly, because even though he smelled incredibly unshowered and like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in a month, Bucky was a prime snuggling candidate. 

“Uh, hey,” Bucky chuckled, decidedly looser than he was just twenty minutes before. 

An hour before?

It was hard to tell right now, so Steve just smiled and said, “Hey,” right back. 

“You’re a snuggler if I ever met one,” Bucky smiled back. He had a really nice smile. 

Did he know that?

Steve couldn’t bear the thought of Bucky going another second without knowing, so he said, “You’ve got a really nice smile.” 

“You said that already,” Bucky snorted and hung his head. His hair fell in dark curtains around their faces, and for a brief moment it was nice to have a little privacy. It was impossible to feel anything but full-hearted and content in this moment. 

“Kinda wanna kiss you,” Steve said, then amended, “Again.” 

[“What did I say about the anal jamboree, Rogers?”]

“Really,” Bucky’s look of disbelief softened under the influence of the THC inside him. 

Steve nodded. 

And then they just stared at one another. Had either been in his right mind, they would have and could have either nipped it in the bud or just gone for it. They weren’t, though, and so they just ended up staring at each other on the couch, Steve’s head in Bucky’s lap and Bucky’s hair tickling the very tip of his cheekbones. 

Tony’s words registered: “What did I say about the anal jamboree, Rogers?” 

“Nobody’s doing anal on your couch tonight, Tony.” 

Laughter erupted from each and every other person. From Natasha’s quiet shaking to Clint’s deep, chesty stoner laugh, from Bruce’s snorting to Bucky’s high-pitched giggle, it was a chorus, a symphony, and it sounded beautiful. Everything sounded beautiful. 

Life was beautiful. 

The sky went dark outside. Steve’s stomach rumbled, and so did everyone else’s. 

“Okay, hang on,” Tony said, “We can order pizza.” 

That was another ordeal: ordering pizza for six people with wildly different opinions about pizza toppings was a clear mark of insanity. Tony tried his best to maintain a professional, sober voice as he talked to the person taking the order at the pizza place, but there was no way said person didn’t know just how incredibly high Tony was. 

The guy ordered ten pizzas. 

Ten pizzas for six people. 

Steve’s stomach growled at the thought. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, because yeah, come to think of it, Steve could definitely eat a whole pizza right now. 

They still hadn’t started the movie, but Steve didn’t care. He could watch Bucky’s face forever. He reached up and traced the edges of his jaw, his eyebrows, his nose and his lips. How was he allowed to be so damn attractive? 

“Oh, what the  _ hell _ ?” Tony’s voice cut through Steve’s brain fog. He stood at the large window, peeking out from behind the curtains. 

“What?” Steve asked. 

“There’s someone in my fuckin’ yard,” Tony dropped the curtain and told Bruce, “Watch my six.” 

Bruce, who had draped himself over the armchair, who sat blowing smoke rings into the hazy air, couldn’t come up with anything but, “Nah.” 

Bucky snorted, but Steve stood. 

“I’ll go with you,” he said. 

“It’s not the fellowship of the rings, Mongo, take it easy,” Tony held out a placating hand. 

“Let him go with you, Tony,” Bruce said. “If it’s murderers I want someone there who can kick their asses.” 

“Hey, I could kick asses if I wanted,” Tony told him. 

Bruce snorted, “Kiss asses, maybe.” 

“I too shall assist,” Clint stood, but he did it too fast and flopped right back onto the couch. Even Natasha had loosened by now, falling into an easy laugh at such spectacular failure. 

“Yeah okay, gonna go make sure no one’s trying to rob me now,” said Tony. He grabbed Steve by the front of his shirt and tugged him toward the back door. 

Autumn chilled the air outside. Steve still hadn’t acclimated to being back in a place with actual seasons, and immediately crossed his arms over his chest. 

The biggest tree on the lot rustled--the shrubs beneath it too. Tony shifted so he was standing behind Steve, then said, “Go get ‘em, tough guy.” 

“Nice,” Steve nodded, slightly sobered now, “Real nice.” 

“You better not try anything funny!” Tony shouted around Steve’s shoulder. “I’ve got a large man who most definitely works out here, he’ll kick your ass! He can bench--” he looked at Steve and whispered, “How much can you bench?” 

“Oh, for,” Steve shrugged away from him. “C’mon, there’s no one out here. It’s probably just a squirrel.” 

Suddenly a large figure rose from the bushes and Tony’s fingers dug into Steve’s arm. 

“Ow!” 

“Get bent, Rogers, we’re gonna fucking die!” Tony yelled way too close to his ear. 

“There’s no need to be alarmed!” called the figure. “I live in the house behind yours. My cat ran up into your tree.” 

“Wait a second,” Steve’s heart slowed considerably. “Isn’t that Thor?” 

He fished his phone out of his pocket and flicked on the light. Sure enough, the figure was proven to be the scruffy-faced, long-haired Swedish transfer student from AP environmental science. 

“Why is there a Swede in my backyard?” Tony asked. “Swedes don’t grow this time of year, it’s way too warm.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and flicked off his phone light. He explained, “He just told you his cat climbed up into your tree, ya dink.”

“I can’t get up into your tree,” said Thor. “And Mewlnir won’t jump down.” 

Tony and Steve both stood speechless. Were they… 

“Are we collectively hallucinating?” asked Steve. 

“If you are, could you get my cat to come down?” Thor said. “She’s very old and should not be outside.” 

“I can get her.” 

Steve and Tony turned to see that Clint had caught up to them, now a lot steadier on his feet. He walked down the steps to where Thor stood and offered a hand to him. 

“Clint Barton,” he introduced. “You looked much smaller from up there.”

“I am Thor Odinson and I am not sure you’re in any state to retrieve my cat.”

“Nonsense,” Clint stretched out his arms and legs. “Twelve years of gymnastics, boys. Watch and learn.” 

He hopped up and grabbed a firm hold of the lowest tree branch, swinging himself up with little to no apparent effort. 

“Can you see her?” Thor asked. 

“Uh,” Clint stood and peered up into the higher branches. “Is your cat really mangled and gray?” 

“She is not mangled,” Thor said. 

“Okay, then that’s a squirrel?’ Clint guessed. “It’s kind of dark.” 

Steve snorted and called, “Hang on, I’ll use my phone light.”

He too walked down the stairs and stood down by Thor. He flicked on his phone light again just in time for Clint to exclaim, “Oh, I found her!” 

“Be careful,” Thor called up. “She’s--”

“Son of a bitch!” Clint yelped. The unmistakable screech of an unhappy cat followed, “She bit me!” 

Mewlnir fell out of the sky and right into Steve’s arms. Adrenaline spiked in his gut, because this was one agitated cat. She was bright white, rail thin but fluffier than anything Steve had ever seen. She vibrated, then turned her cycloptic stare on Steve and hissed.

“Help me,” Steve said. “Thor, help.” 

Thor plucked her out of Steve’s arms and the hissing stopped. Her tail went loose and swung down over one of Thor’s giant arms. She licked her chops, then descended into the loudest bout of purring Steve had ever heard. 

Clint dropped onto the ground, now sporting several scratches both feline- and tree-induced. He looked at Thor with a scowl unlike any other and threw his arms out at his side, “What the hell, man? She knocked out one of my hearing aids.” 

It was the closest Steve had ever been to Clint, and the first time he’d seen the peach-colored hearing aid in his ear. 

Thor stooped and picked up the matching one, handing it to Clint with a, “Thank you, and I’m sorry. She’s a rescue. She doesn’t like most people.” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Clint as he replaced the aid. He looked at the cat and addressed her, “You’re just trouble with a capital T, aren’t you?” 

“Hey, chumps!” Tony called from up in the house. When the hell had he gone back inside? “You want some motherfuckin’ pizza? You come too, Thor. In hindsight, ten pizzas may have been overkill.” 

Steve’s stomach let out an insistent growl. 

“Whaddya say?” Clint patted Thor on the shoulder. “Want some pizza?” 

Thor and Mewlnir were regarded warily back in the kitchen, where Tony had laid out all ten pizzas on the ample counter space. Had Steve been in his right mind, he might have told them to get over themselves. What was one more person? 

Then Thor tucked Mewlnir under one arm and raised his other hand in greeting. In the light of the kitchen, Steve could see the sketchy drawing of an alien in a flying saucer on his t-shirt, accompanied by the words, _ “I’m Going Back to My Home Planet”.  _

Thor declared, “I come in peace. My cat was stuck in your tree.”

“My tree,” said Tony. His eyes landed on the cat and he whistled, “Wow, that is one battered old pussy.” 

Bruce put down his slice of pizza to smack Tony on the arm. 

“What!” Tony exclaimed. 

“You know what,” Bruce said. He looked ten times crazier than usual, his black hair frizzed out and standing on end. From the looks of it, he’d been running his fingers through it all night. 

“May I let her walk around while I eat?” Thor asked. 

Tony nodded. 

“She’s lovely,” said Natasha. She put her hoodie up in the time Steve was outside with Clint and Thor. She put out a hand to pet her, ignoring the chorus of “No, don’t!”s and getting the crap scratched out of her hand. 

“Sorry,” said Thor. “I should have warned you sooner. She’ll keep to herself.” 

He set her down and she immediately hopped up on top of Tony’s refrigerator. 

“See?” Thor pointed up to her, then looked to the pizza. “Now, what toppings do we have?” 

Bucky, who had been hanging on the opposite end of the kitchen, came to Steve’s side to ask, “Now who is that?” 

“Thor,” Steve said. 

“Shut up,” Bucky hissed. “That’s not his name.”

Steve bit his lips shut and tried not to laugh when Bucky stifled his own laugh in his shoulder. There was something about having Bucky with him that just set him right, made him feel better. He looped an arm around Bucky and pulled him in tight. This was closer to the Bucky he remembered, all loose grins and easy laughs--qualities you don’t appreciate when you’re little nearly as much as you do later on. 

Everyone ate until they were fit to pop, then ate a little more. It was only after the great pizza massacre that Tony remembered, “Hey, we were gonna watch Ferris Bueller.”

The night ended with Clint rolling another joint in the den, this time while the movie actually played. Natasha and Thor ended up deep in the couch, shoulder to shoulder, both teaching the other phrases in their first languages--Russian and Swedish, respectively. Tony’s eyes were glued to the screen, while Bruce dozed off beside him. Eventually, he wound up slumped against Tony, cheek squished and drool running out the corner of his mouth. 

Another couple hits off that joint and Steve was down for the night. He toed off his shoes, shucked off his socks and burrowed as far into Bucky as he could. 

“Hey, big guy,” Bucky chuckled. “How’s that joint treating you?” 

“With all the dignity and respect I deserve, damn it,” Steve grinned. Bucky draped his arm around Steve, and damn if that didn’t feel just right. If he just tipped his head a little--

No. It wasn’t the right time. This was a nice moment and it was going to stay a nice moment. They could do the kissing thing when they were sober, when Steve was completely sure Bucky was flashing signals back at him. 

“So,” Bucky murmured close to Steve’s ear. “This Peggy girl.” 

“Aw, she’s amazing, Buck,” Steve’s insides went all goopy. Talking about one of his favorite people to another favorite people? That’s a jackpot of good feelings right there. 

“Yeah?” 

Steve nodded, “You’d like her. Grew up in England while her dad was stationed there. They moved to San Diego and she went to my school, and god she’s just gorgeous. Plus, she throws a pretty mean right hook.” 

“You don’t say,” Bucky shifted against him. 

“Broke up, though,” Steve said. “Long distance would’ve been impractical. Woulda ended up hating each other. This way I get to be her friend still.”

Bucky’s fingers pressed into his arm. 

“You’re one of the good ones, Rogers,” he said. 

Steve yawned and nuzzled into him. “So are you, Barnes. So are you.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Pot never had been Bucky’s drug of choice. The couple of times he’d tried it with the guys on the team, he’d either spent his high paralyzed on the couch or huddled under a dining table, waiting for it to end. Now that he knew there were different kinds, though, and certain of these different kinds could knock him out cold, he had a reason to reconsider.

Bucky woke while it was still dark outside. Everyone had long since fallen asleep, but Bucky was awake because someone else was moving on top of him. 

Steve. 

“Don’t,” Bucky whispered. He held onto Steve’s shirt like a sailor catapulted overboard mid-storm. He was warm against the iciness of everything else, buoyant even in the leaden muck that so easily held him down these days. 

“C’mon, I gotta pee,” Steve whined in a way that did not sound in the least bit genuine. 

Unfortunately, Bucky was still half asleep and there wasn’t much in the way of a comeback for that. 

“Mmkay,” he released Steve, rolled over so the cold of the room wouldn’t settle onto his chest and torso. That marked twice he’d woken up to Steve nestled against him, and twice he hadn’t minded. Maybe it was something like muscle memory--his brain knew Steve was safe because he’d been safe for so long. It was how he knew Becca and mom were safe, that they wouldn’t hurt him. 

He never did tell them what happened, though. 

With a yawn and some sort of ironclad will, Bucky decided that was a problem for his future self to deal with and slipped back into dreamless sleep. 

**oo**

_ “What the--oh, right. We have friends now.”  _

_ “A den full of them this morning. And damn, what a lovely morning. The sun is up, the house is clean… wait, the house is clean. How the fuck is the house clean?”  _

Bucky distinctly heard Clint ask, “Are you quoting Finding Nemo? Because I’m pretty sure you took a few liberties there.” 

Bucky opened his eyes to find that the sun was indeed up and the den was in fact clean. No joints, no roaches, not a thing out of place. 

“Fuck,” Tony fisted his hands in his hair. Like Ferris Bueller, he wore a floor-length bathrobe. Bruce, standing beside him in nothing but a pair of boxers and a too-large t-shirt, ran a hand through his frizzy curls and reminded Tony, “Your dad’s in Tokyo.” 

“He knows,” Tony shook his head. “He knows, he must have cameras or something. He sent the cleaning lady.” 

“Wouldn’t he say something?” Clint asked. 

“No,” Tony shoved his hands in his robe pockets, “And that makes it way worse, trust me.”

“We’ve checked for nanny cams a hundred times and we’ve never found any,” Bruce said. By now, Nat and Thor had stretched into consciousness. They’d fallen asleep in exactly the way Bucky had last seen them: shoulder to shoulder. She was so small compared to him. Hell, even Steve was--

“Steve,” Bucky croaked. Damn, he had not smoked in a long time. “Where’s Steve?” 

Bruce looked from Bucky to Tony and shrugged. 

Wordlessly, Bucky stood and shuffled his way into the kitchen where, sure enough, Steve Rogers sat at the spotless island counter with Mewlnir at his side and a cereal bowl full of Cap’n Crunch. He read the back of the trademark red box with unusually rapt interest. All that was missing was the 8 oz. glass of orange juice and he looked like he could be in a wholesome ad for  _ part of a balanced breakfast. _

“Ho, what the fuck!” Tony exclaimed. He must’ve followed Bucky. 

Steve looked up, all innocence and puppy dog eyes, “What?” 

“That’s  _ my  _ cereal,” Tony said. “It’s mine. I’m the only one who eats it.” 

“Not today,” Steve shrugged. 

“Did you clean up?” Bucky asked. 

Steve hummed as he went back to reading the cereal box. He said, “I feel like these mazes used to be harder.”

“No, you just have a more-or-less fully formed brain,” Bruce explained. 

“Aw, come on,” Clint pouted. He rested his head on Nat’s shoulder, while Nat obscured her yawn behind one of Thor’s massive biceps. 

So, everyone had followed him. 

“The brain isn’t done developing until your twenties,” Bruce said. “I didn’t mean it as a judgment, it was just a statement of fact. The sky is blue and a seventeen-year-old still has a good eight years left of brain development.” 

“Hang on, am I the only one who’s wondering why wonder boy cleaned up?” Tony asked, then turned a grave look to Steve, “Who did you kill? Never mind, I don’t want to know, just get me a drum of acid and a hacksaw.” 

“Take it easy, Walter White,” Bruce rolled his eyes. 

“Why did you clean my house?” Tony asked again. 

“Because we made a mess and I didn’t want you to have to clean it up by yourself,” Steve explained a little too loudly. 

“Why though?” Tony pressed. “You don’t like me.”

Steve’s jaw muscles undulated under his skin, but he wasn’t going to take the bait. Instead he just muttered, “Doesn’t mean I want you to get in trouble for trashing your house.” 

For whatever reason, that hit a soft spot in Bucky’s chest. 

“You want coffee?” Steve asked then and gestured to the fancy coffee maker on the counter behind them. “I made coffee.” 

Bruce smacked Tony on the arm, and Tony blurted out an, “Oh. Thank you.” 

It was slow to get going after that, but everyone managed it. Clint would take Nat home, but Bucky lived too far out of his route to volunteer to take him too. 

“Sorry, man,” Clint yawned. “I’ll get you back next time, okay?” 

Next time. 

“Okay,” Bucky nodded. 

“Good man,” Clint held out his fist, “Bump it, blow it up.” 

Bucky did. 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Thor said, once again cradling Mewlnir in his arms. “If you’re at all interested in attending next Friday’s football game, I have tickets.” 

“Thor, buddy,” Tony gestured to himself, “Do we look like the football kinda fellas?”

“I like football,” Steve chimed in, replacing his thick leather jacket on his broad shoulders. “I might take you up on that.”

“So do I,” said Clint. “And I’m always a slut for supporting fellow athletes.” 

Bucky snorted so hard he hurt his nose. 

“Hey, man, whatever floats your boat,” Steve chuckled. “Thanks, Thor.” 

“You’re welcome,” Thor replied, looking to be quite proud of this interaction. 

After everyone said their goodbyes, Steve draped his arm around Bucky and said, “Looks like it’s you and me. Can I take you home?” 

Bucky’s eyes settled on the motorcycle in the street. Steve had offered to take him home on it last night if things got too overwhelming, and in the height of anxiety it’s easy to accept an otherwise insane idea because there isn’t a rational thought in your head. 

Bucky trusted Steve, and he trusted the laws of physics, but did he trust himself to follow Steve’s lead on a motorcycle?

“What if I fuck up?” he asked. “That’s like, life and death stakes right there.”

… huh. Maybe he should just accept the ride. 

But what if he did something stupid and it killed Steve instead of him? That would be just Bucky’s luck. 

“Hey,” Steve’s cool, calm voice in his ears and warm, firm hands on his jaw split the loop in two. “You’re not gonna fuck up, because you’re just gonna hang onto me and do what I do, okay?” 

Bucky nodded. 

“Okay, good,” Steve grinned, and pulled an extra helmet from the straps on the back part of his seat. He handed it to Bucky, who wasted no time fitting it over his head. 

“And what the hell is so funny, exactly?” Bucky asked. At least, that’s what he meant to ask. The helmet sort of put a crimp in that. 

“You look so dejected,” Steve laughed. “It’s cute.”

Bucky flipped up his middle finger. 

With that, Steve put on his helmet and swung a leg over the bike, then encouraged Bucky to do the same. All of a sudden he was pressed flush against Steve, legs splayed like a two dollar whore and junk nestled right against the warmth of the most perfect ass on the planet. It didn’t get any worse than this, did it?

Steve started up the engine, sending vibrations through every molecule in Bucky’s body and yep. 

Yep, things definitely got worse. 

It had been months since Bucky had felt anything even remotely close to sexual attraction for another human being. Even seeing Steve as much as he had been, as much as he wanted to kiss Steve or hug Steve or anything else, the feral adolescent desire that had once bubbled so close to his surface had all but died. But being this close to Steve with vibrations running through him, flying down the street with no metal shell to protect them… he couldn’t explain it, but Bucky’s mind and body just somehow remembered how to live. 

Even though the ride back to his house wasn’t nearly as long as Bucky had wanted it to be, he couldn’t keep the pleasant buzz of adrenaline out of his mind. This was great. 

He pulled the helmet off his head at the same time as Steve, who smiled and asked, “Well?” 

“That was fucking incredible,” Bucky said. “I never rode one of those before.” 

“Always happy to be your first,” Steve grinned cheekily, and, for the first time in too long, Bucky actually felt like bouncing his eyebrows back. 

“Here,” Steve took the helmet from him. Even without the engine or the bike between his legs, Bucky still buzzed with everything good. Steve strapped the helmet down and turned back to Bucky to say, “Lemme walk you up.” 

“Jeez,” Bucky let out a laugh, “Next thing I know you’ll be asking my ma for permission to court me.” 

Steve chuckled, then bumped his shoulder against Bucky’s as they walked up the stairs. They stopped at the door and yep, there it was. The awkward moment that brought Bucky back to earth at warp speed. 

“Hey, so last night,” Steve licked his lips. His tongue was very pink and very soft-looking and it would just feel very nice on Bucky’s tongue, okay? 

He realized Steve was waiting for him and nodded, “Yeah. Last night.” 

“I said I wanted to kiss you again, didn’t I?” he almost looked--embarrassed wasn’t the right word, but he didn’t look not-embarrassed about it.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. Ugh, why did his stomach feel like it was about to drop right out of him now? 

“Kinda still want to.” 

Bucky looked him in the eye at that. Why, though? Not that he’d ever say that to Steve, because that might get him the opposite of kissed (whatever that was), but seriously. 

Why? 

“I--” Bucky cut himself off, realizing a little too late that he hadn’t stopped staring at Steve’s mouth. “You should, um. You should definitely do that.” 

Steve’s lips were on his in an instant, soft and warm, tentative but firm. Bucky wanted nothing more than to melt into it, to turn to a puddle at Steve’s feet and make him melt too until they made one Bucky-and-Steve puddle. What a glorious puddle that would be. 

He couldn’t, though. Steve may have been familiar, but this was intimate on so many levels that Bucky just could not handle at the moment, so he pulled away. 

Smiling, of course, because he was almost as big of a dope as Steve was. 

“Yeah, still a pretty good kisser,” Steve confirmed. 

“We were eleven, Steve,” Bucky gave him a look, “That kiss was for shit and you know it.”

Possibly just to prove that he could, Bucky pulled him back in and planted a kiss of his own on that stupid mug. 

This time when they pulled apart, it was Steve looking dazed. 

“Okay, an excellent kisser,” he concluded. He turned that goofy smile right on Bucky and said, “I really, really hate to break this up, but I gotta go. I’ll text you, though?” 

Bucky nodded, “Sounds good.” 

“Great,” Steve nodded back. 

They kissed again. Fuck’s sake, they were only human. 

Bucky stayed outside until Steve rode away, then turned to unlock the front door. Except there wasn’t a door to open, just mom and Becca standing in the doorway,  _ watching _ . 

“Ma!” Bucky recoiled. “What the hell!” 

“James and Steven sitting in a tree,” Becca chanted. 

“You do not use my given name, troll,” Bucky warned her, then looked to his mom. “How long were you standing there?” 

“Oh, only a few seconds,” mom waved him off. 

“Saw you guys kiss from the window, though,” Becca said and pointed at the large window to the left of him. 

“You guys are dicks,” Bucky told them, but it didn’t seem to have the intended effect. 

“He’s a nice boy, Bucky,” mom said. “I’m very happy for you.” 

“And there goes my good mood,” Bucky sighed and pushed past them. He needed a few hours of sleep in his own bed. 

“Oh, boo-hoo, my mother approves of the boy I’m dating,” mom called back after him. Bucky didn’t reply, just went straight down to his room and flopped down on the bed. 

Steve kissed him. 

A smile curled up on Bucky’s face, and with that he was asleep again. 

**oo**

Bucky woke around noon to his phone buzzing out of control. There were texts from Steve and Natasha, and then from four other unidentified numbers and, shit, he was on a shitty group text, wasn’t he? 

Sure enough, when Bucky swiped through his messages, all the numbers came up in one conversation. 

He texted,  _ ‘Christ in a kayak. Do you people ever sleep?’  _

A text came in almost immediately after.

_ ‘BUCKY’S AWAKE! Hi Bucky! It’s Clint.’  _

Well, there was one mystery solved. Bucky saved Clint to his contacts and watched out for the other unidentified numbers. 

_ ‘R u telling me my couch is uncomfortable barnes’  _

There was Tony. 

_ ‘Maybe he had trouble breathing with nearly two hundred pounds of solid muscle mass on his chest.’  _

Unmistakably Bruce. 

Bucky texted back,  _ ‘Did you people drag thor into this too?’  _

_ ‘Indeed they did. _ ’ 

Well, fantastic. 

Natasha sent a private text next,  _ ‘Check your facebook, nerd. It says you haven’t logged on in over a week.’  _

So Bucky did, and found that six friend requests awaited him.


	5. Chapter 5

For the next few weeks, Bucky bobbed along as things settled. School finally felt routinized again, and on top of that he had friends. Actual friends, not guys who let him hang out because he was on the same team as them. Natasha and Clint sat with him and Steve at lunch, and Thor joined them soon after. When Dr. Erskine’s room wasn’t open during lunch period, Tony and Bruce fell into place with them, and soon Bucky found himself surrounded on all sides with people he genuinely enjoyed. 

A couple of times he found himself so content among this group of people that he could sometimes forget he was more or less still a miserable human. At least he was a miserable human with friends, so that lightened the blow a little bit. 

Plus, Steve made sure just the two of them got to hang out too. He would come over after school or on the weekends and do nothing. Sometimes they’d play video games, other times they’d watch movies. They kissed a lot too, but Steve was intuitive and seemed to understand that Bucky couldn’t do more just yet. 

It wasn’t a secret or anything either, that Steve and Bucky were kind-of-sort-of-boyfriends-but-also-they-hadn’t-really-talked-about-it-so?? Their friends knew and, shockingly, either didn’t care or just had better things to tease him for. 

Picture day, for example, Bucky had come to school with his hair lopped off and styled within an inch of its non-life. He had a button up in his backpack, because yes, he would take a nice picture for his mom, but he would not walk around all day looking like--

“Holy shit,” Tony had said. “You meeting your best gal down at the five and dime after school?” 

Bucky flipped him off, but also yes. That’s exactly what he’d looked like. 

“I think you look nice with short hair,” Steve had told him. “But you’re one of those guys who looks nice no matter what you do.” 

Bucky had blushed from his head to his toes. 

So yes, for the first month or so of senior year had him thinking that this may not be such a bad time. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to panic over nothing, to lose his breath and curl in on himself and just want everything to stop. 

And then it happened. 

It was a night like any other, the fitting end to a day like any other. Bucky was still awake, because something hadn’t been right in his chest and Steve had already gone to sleep, so who was he supposed to psycho-text his problems to now? 

Four in the morning and mom was working until seven, and all of a sudden Bucky heard a blood-curdling scream from upstairs. 

_ Becca _ .

Bucky leapt into action, grabbed the bat he kept under his bed, and dashed up the stairs. Burglary wasn’t common in this part of Brooklyn, but it was by no means unheard of. Upon getting upstairs, there didn’t seem to be any sign of a break in, but Becca was full on sobbing from her room. So, in his Snoopy and Woodstock Christmas boxers and an old  _ Brooklyn Academy High School Phys. Ed _ shirt, Bucky busted into Becca’s room and flipped on the light, ready to fight. 

That.

Was a lot of blood. 

Fuck, someone broke in and stabbed her, didn’t they? A fucking great brother he was. He was downstairs  looking through pictures on Steve’s Facebook profile on his phone and Becca was up here getting murdered. 

“Bucky,” she whined. 

She was alone, and the blood soaked through her sheets and her pajama bottoms. 

Oh no. 

Becca folded herself in half and let out a sob. 

“Shit,” Bucky set down the bat and went to her. “Shit, where’s your phone? I’ll call mom.” 

Becca looked up and pointed to the phone charging on her bedside table. Bucky picked it up and dialed mom on the off chance that she was on her break and near her phone. 

Voicemail. 

“Shit,” Bucky repeated, “Uh, hey ma. Becca just uh… got her period? I’m kinda flying blind here. Call back.” 

He hung up and shouted again, “Shit!” 

“Bucky, stop,” Becca whined again, then descended into full on waterworks. 

“Okay,” Bucky kneeled in front of her. “It’s okay, I promise. It’s a natural part of life.”

“I don’t care!” Becca cried. “I want mom.” 

Fuck. 

“Okay, hang tight,” he said. “I’m gonna be right back. I’ll get you some water.” 

And his phone. He went downstairs to retrieve that first. He sent mom a text for good measure, then followed his next instinct. 

“Buck?” Steve’s groggy voice answered. “Are you okay?” 

“Becca is crying upstairs,” said Bucky. “She got her period and I don’t know what the fuck to do.” 

Steve kept silent for only a second before he replied, “So, naturally you called me, an only child who lives with his widowed father?” 

Bucky frowned. 

“There’s a high level of sass coming off of this call,” he said. “Don’t be a dick. What do you know about periods?” 

“I don’t know!” Steve exclaimed, exhaustion apparent in his voice. “Ask someone with a uterus.” 

“... a girl?” 

“That’s not really trans-inclusive, but yeah.”

“God, you even  _ sleep _ on a soapbox.”

“I’ll text you later, okay?” Steve promised. “You can handle this.” 

The call ended and Bucky did not have any reason whatsoever to believe Steve in this moment. 

Girls, girls… he had to know some girls, right? Some girls that he trusted with his baby sister. 

Unfortunately, two of the three women who came to mind were at work or the baby sister herself. That left only one. 

Bucky’s hands shook as the phone rang through. 

“So, you know it’s four in the morning, right?” 

“Nat, help,” Bucky blurted. “Becca’s upstairs and she got her period and our mom’s at work and Steve’s all pissy because I woke him up and I don’t know what to do. She sounds like she’s dying, Nat.”

He had not felt this close to tears in a long while. 

Nat, however, kept remarkably cool. 

“She’s not dying,” she said. “Get her up and into a warm shower. That’ll help the cramps. Hang tight, I’ll be there soon.” 

“Thank you,” Bucky nearly collapsed with relief, but Natasha had already hung up. 

He returned upstairs to find Becca more or less in the same position. 

“Natasha is coming over,” he told her. “She said to get you into the shower. I guess that’ll help the, uh. Cramps.” 

Bucky suddenly recalled how nice it felt to take a hot shower when his muscles were so bunched up that he could barely move.  

“C’mon, let’s get you up,” he said and guided her into sitting. Blood now stained the bottom half of her shirt in some macabre rorschach design. He guided her to the bathroom across the hall and pulled a fresh set of towels out of the cupboard above the toilet. While she swayed on her feet, Bucky twisted the shower knobs until the water hit just the right temperature. 

“Just try to relax, okay?” he instructed, “It’ll help.” 

“I’m sorry, when was the last time you bled out of your dick?” 

Bucky conceded, “Fair point. I promise, it’ll be okay though. Women have been going through this for thousands of years, all right? If hearty women of the prairie did it, so can you.” 

Becca, despite her better judgment, let out a laugh. Maybe. It looked like a laugh but sounded a little more like a sob. 

Bucky stripped Becca’s bed while she showered. Blood had soaked into the mattress only a little bit, just enough that she would be able to look at that stain for years to come and remember this clusterfuck of a night. He knocked on the bathroom door, though the shower still ran, and asked, “Can I snag the dirty clothes?” 

“Yeah,” Becca replied. 

God bless opaque shower curtains. 

Bucky ran down to the communal building washing machine and stuffed the sheets and pajamas in with a large dose of soap. There was no way these things weren’t coming out of this unstained, but whatever. He was trying. 

By the time he got back upstairs, Nat texted that she was outside. Bucky swung the door open and, honestly, could have cried. She looked to be dressed for the day, a striped black and gray hoodie hugging her frame and chunky black boots encasing the entirety of her calves. She wore torn jeans and--yep, that was a septum piercing. 

“How long has that been there?” 

“Years,” Natasha replied, “I just don’t wear it to school. Where’s Becca?” 

Her voice didn’t even shift with the change of subject. 

“Showering still,” Bucky said. He led her into the kitchen, where she unpacked the canvas bag she’d brought with her. 

“Okay, I brought tampons and pads, since she doesn’t know which she prefers yet,” Natasha set two boxes in front of Bucky. “Personally, I’d start with the pads until your mom got home. Even if she did want the cotton torpedoes, she’d probably feel more comfortable having your mom walk her through insertion than me.” 

“Wait, insertion?” Bucky frowned and grabbed the box of tampons. Inside the box there was a set of instructions that Bucky immediately dropped. “That’s--why?” 

Natasha narrowed her eyes. 

“Your mom is a nurse,” she said. “How do you not know any of this?” 

“The whole ‘women shove plastic sticks up their vaginas to staunch the flow of blood’ isn’t exactly a conversation you have unless you have to,” said Bucky. 

“Oh, for--you don’t leave the plastic on,” Natasha took one of the tampons and tore it open. There was a top part of the plastic, rounded at the tip, and a bottom separate piece of plastic. Natasha pushed that one into the top one and, like some deranged flower out of a horror film, the cotton sprouted out of the tip of the other plastic and--

“Pads, yeah,” Bucky nodded. “Pads’ll be fine for now.” 

Natasha shook her head. 

“I swear, boys are so squeamish,” she said. “Blood diaper it is, then.” 

“Oh my god, what?” Bucky grabbed the pack of pads and scanned the instructions for those. “So it’s either stuff cotton in your cooch or sit in your own blood?” 

“Welcome to the joys of womanhood.” 

She took the pads from Bucky and headed down the hall. 

“Becca?” she knocked on the bathroom door. “I’m Natasha, your brother’s friend. I have supplies for you.” 

Bucky could hear Becca’s pitiful sniffle and her even more pitiful, “Come in”, from all the way in the kitchen. 

He checked the canvas bag and found two bags of chocolates, one milk and one dark. 

Becca and mom didn’t like dark chocolate, so guess whose morning just got a little better? 

Natasha returned to the kitchen five minutes later looking about as unfazed as ever. 

“She’ll be fine,” she said. “I told her to lie down in your mom’s bed since you had to strip hers. Ah, I see you found the chocolate.” 

“I did.” 

“Well, I already gave her a Midol, but there’s a full bottle in there too,” Natasha continued. “And I threw in a heating pad because I didn’t know if you had one.” 

Words escaped him, so he just came forward and wrapped her up in the biggest, tightest hug that he could. 

“You’re amazing,” he said. 

When she didn’t reply, he pulled away. Uh oh, maybe she was the kind of person who wasn’t into touchy feely hugs. 

He followed her line of sight to--oh fuck--his left arm. Between mittens and pockets, he’d managed to keep his new friends from seeing the artificial limb. 

“I have to go to work,” she said, “But don’t think I’m going to let this slide.” 

Bucky felt his cheeks burn, but the relief he felt at his sister being okay outweighed it for now. 

“Thanks,” he said, “For everything.”

Natasha saluted and with that took her leave. 

When Bucky went to check on Becca in their mom’s room, he found she’d already fallen asleep. What could Bucky say? He liked the girl’s style. He climbed into bed beside her, surrounded by the familiar aroma of his mom’s perfume, and even if he didn’t actually fall asleep, he liked knowing Becca wouldn’t wake up alone. 

**oo**

Mom had hugged the living daylights out of him when she got home. 

“It wasn’t even me, ma,” Bucky had replied, despite the fact that most of his face was smushed against her shoulder. “It was Nat.” 

She’d given him a look then. “You’d better not be screwing around on Steve.” 

“I’m not! Natasha is my friend.” 

That had sent her into a whole new diatribe about how she was  _ so happy he has friends _ and that had sent Bucky outside for a walk around the block. Did he smoke a cigarette while on this walk? Maybe. He’d go right into the shower and do his own laundry and mom never had to know. 

When he arrived back, it was just after nine o’clock. He walked up the stoop and into the building, and was only inside for ten seconds before someone knocked on the door. 

And there was Steve, two paper cups in hand and a look on his face that reeked of sad puppy. 

“Uh, hey,” Bucky greeted. “Did you text me or something? ‘cause I didn’t get it.” 

“Oh no, I,” he fumbled over the words, then decided it would just be better to shove one of the cups at Bucky. “I was a jerk on he phone earlier,” he explained. “I know it doesn’t really make up for it, but I brought you some coffee. Whole milk, three C&H sugar packets and three shakes of that cocoa powder, right?” 

Bucky accepted the cup wordlessly. Steve knew how he liked his coffee? Who the hell pays that much attention to anything, let alone to Bucky? 

On the cup, right above the cardboard holder, a sketch of two sparrows that held a banner between them that read  _ I’m sorry _ . Christ, there were even little hearts around them. 

He realized then that he’d just been staring and quickly nodded his head. 

“Sorry, yeah,” Bucky said, “Yeah, that’s right. I’m just--thanks, Steve. This is nice.” 

He switched the coffee to his metal hand and used the other to pull Steve down into a kiss. The arm was an advanced piece of machinery that responded to his nervous system’s commands, but it couldn’t feel. Damn it, he wanted to feel Steve’s t-shirt twist in his fingers, wanted to be able to feel Steve’s chest move as he took in that soft, surprised breath. 

They broke apart just as mom came back into the front room. 

“Steve,” she beamed, “Bucky didn’t say you’d be over this--” her nostrils flared. 

Oh, shit. 

“Do you smell cigarette smoke?” mom asked. 

Without missing a beat, Steve said, “Oh, that might be me. I walked by a lady who was smoking like a chimney on the way here.” 

Mom let out a noise of unmistakable disgust. “Didn’t we make that illegal?” she asked. “I swear to god, why do I even vote sometimes.” 

“Voting’s the best thing you can do, though,” Steve said. “It’s the cornerstone of American democracy.” 

“Thanks, Councilwoman Knope,” Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“Bucky, hush,” mom admonished. “Steve, you’re welcome to stay for breakfast. I’m making chocolate chip pancakes.” 

“I never say no to a Winnie Barnes breakfast,” Steve grinned back. 

“Ass-kisser, party of one,” Bucky shot. 

“Wow, and after I brought you coffee,” Steve clucked his tongue. “Rude.” 

“He brought you coffee?” mom threw an accusatory look Bucky’s way. 

“What did I do?” he asked. 

“You be nice to him,” mom threatened more than suggested. 

Steve turned a cheesy grin back on him, and Bucky stuck out his tongue. 

“He was already getting coffee for himself, all right?” Bucky indicated the cup in Steve’s hand, which Steve seemed to have forgotten he was holding. 

“I actually got it for Becca,” he said. “I heard about this morning and thought she might like a hot chocolate.” 

Bucky did not want to kiss that stupid, genuinely kind smile off of Steve’s face, thank you very much. He didn’t even like Steve at all. He was the human embodiment of sunshine and Bucky was torn between wanting to bask in it and wanting to cover himself in SPF 500 and await the pending arrival of winter. 

“Steve, that’s so sweet,” mom’s hand came up over her heart. “You’re a good boy. You both are.”

She placed one hand on Steve’s cheek and the other on Bucky’s, “My good boys.” 

“Thanks, ma,” Bucky mumbled as Steve gave a heartfelt, “Thank you, Winnie.” 

They sat down to a stack of pancakes each and both inhaled them like they had black holes in their stomachs. Becca shuffled out of her room, and groaned when she smelled breakfast. Whether this groan was one of delight or repulsion remained to be seen. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Bucky greeted her. “How’s it going?” 

“I’m bleeding,” Becca flopped into her chair and put her head down on the tabletop, “Out of my vagina.” 

Steve’s fork clattered against his plate. Bucky looked from him to the fork and back again, then smirked, “Say Steve, you know what I learned today? How tampons work.” 

“Oh, my god,” Steve buried his face in his hands. 

“It’s a whole process,” Bucky said. “A medieval contraption that pushes a cotton dildo--”

“James!” 

“What!” Bucky shouted back at his mom. 

“You know what,” she said. “Now stop tormenting Steve. And stop talking about tampons, for god’s sake. You’re acting like you discovered fire.” 

Becca at least laughed about that. 

“Just for that, I’m dragging you to the mall with me,” Steve told Bucky. “And you’re gonna like it.”

“Wh--no!” Bucky exclaimed. “I’m not going to the mall with you. I hate the mall.”

“You’re going,” mom insisted. “It’ll be good for you.” 

“How?” Bucky asked. “How will it be good for me?” 

“I don’t know,” mom shrugged. “You’ll have to tell me when you get back.” 

Bucky sighed and hung his head. After this morning, all he wanted to do was sleep. Granted, that was what he wanted to do anyway a lot of the time, but still.

“Why do you need to go to the mall?” Bucky asked. 

“I need stuff,” Steve said. “Who cares? You’re going with me.”

“Fine, but we’re taking the car and if you pull any shit with me you can walk home.” 

“Ugh, just shut up and  _ go _ ,” Becca pleaded. “Bicker around someone else for a while.” 

Which is how Bucky ended up at a mall with Steve at ten o’clock in the freaking morning, disgruntled but bribed with yet another coffee. 

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked as Steve stopped to check the map. 

“Hot Topic,” Steve replied, eyes scanning. 

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. First of all, why would walking corn on the cob Steve Rogers need anything in Hot Topic? Second, despite looking like he’d often been spit out of a Hot Topic himself, Bucky was actually not a fan of the place. 

“Humor me,” Steve smiled and nudged him. 

“Hot Topic,” Bucky repeated. He didn’t need any help being a surly teenager (obviously), why did he need to go into--

“C’mon, I lost the ball on one of my nipple rings and I need to get more.” 

The whole world screeched to a halt. 

So many things, so many layers to the statement and Bucky wanted to savor each one.

“Did I just hear you say ‘nipple rings’?” he asked. 

Steve turned a little pink in the cheeks, but only for a minute. 

Bucky sighed, “Fine, but I’m going to bitch about it the whole time.” 

“And there he is,” Steve nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew you were in there somewhere.” 

That shouldn’t have made Bucky feel as nice as it did. Granted, that nice feeling could also be leftover glee at having just discovered that Steve had nipple rings under those damn preachy t-shirts of his. It took Bucky this long to finally feel that itch in his fingers and that pull in his belly. His head, heart, and dick all screamed the same thing: 

Fuck Steve Rogers.

The mall was mostly dead at this hour, considering it had only opened about half an hour before. That made it a little easier to be there. Bucky didn’t used to hate large crowds of people--he wouldn’t say he ever liked them, but at one point in his life he did not actively dislike them. Now hyper-aware of everyone, Bucky wondered if people knew what happened to him just by looking. Even if they didn’t, they definitely knew he didn’t belong out and about in the world. 

“Hey!” Steve called to him. Bucky came out of his thoughts and looked around. He’d gone two stores past Hot Topic. 

Nice one, Barnes. 

Hot Topic had lightened up--literally--since the last time he’d been in one. Bucky never liked the encapsulating black walls and the stifling heat that hung in the air. This version of Hot Topic felt a little friendlier, a little more welcoming, though maybe that was because they were greeted by a pair of familiar faces. 

“Well, look at what the cat dragged in,” Natasha shook her head from behind the counter. Clint waved from beside her as she asked, “How’s Becca doing?” 

Bucky didn’t know why he was so surprised that she thought to ask. He took a moment to process this before answering, “She’s a little better, I think.” 

“Glad to hear it,” Nat gave him something akin to a smile. 

“Do you both work here?” Steve asked. 

“Just Nat,” Clint said and took a sip of his smoothie. The man had a Spencer’s bag, a Jamba Juice, and a shit-eating grin on his face. He asked, “What brings you gents in here so early in the day?”

“Same thing that brought you to Spencer’s, probably,” Steve snarked back. 

“Oh,” Clint frowned and turned to Natasha, “Do you guys carry vibrators here now?”

Steve just  _ had  _ to be a smartass. 

“No, but we’re never short on dildos,” Nat replied. “Just hang around for a while, they come in here in droves.” 

Bucky snorted. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve grinned back. “I was actually gonna look at the body jewelry. Lost the end of a nipple barbell.” 

While Bucky basked yet again in the glory that was pierced-nipple Steve, Natasha and Clint took a very long moment to stare at him. 

“Why do you guys keep looking at me like that?” Steve asked. “First Bucky, now you two. I have pierced nipples, get over it.” 

“Do I look like the kind of person who gives a shit?” Natasha gestured to the septum ring hanging from her nose. 

“And I don’t care,” Clint said and, as though to offer proof, lifted up his shirt. 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, “Do you have a belly button ring?” 

“Yup,” Clint chirped. “Nat and I got them done together.” 

“How…” Bucky frowned, searching, “‘touching’ isn’t the right word, but let’s go with that.” 

“Glad to have your approval,” Clint replied dryly. 

“Kinda hot, I won’t lie,” Steve considered. 

Bucky poked him in the ribs. 

“Come on, Steve,” Nat interrupted, grabbing her keys from around her neck, “I’ll open up the case for you.” 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Clint turned on Bucky and demanded, “How have you not fucked him yet?” 

Bucky shrunk under the question. Any normal person would have by now, wouldn’t they?

He looked over at where Steve browsed the now open jewelry case. How did he do everything so freaking earnestly. He was looking for nipple rings, for shit’s sake, and he was treating it like he was browsing a wall of fine art. 

“It’s complicated, all right?” Bucky shifted. 

“It’s at this point in the Disney narrative that I, your talking animal best friend, sing a rousing and inspiring song about what your heart desires,” Clint pointed out. “But since we’re not in a Disney movie, I’ll just go with, ‘if you don’t fuck him, I will’.” 

Bucky scowled, then remembered, “Wait, aren’t you…” 

Huh. 

“You’re--what are you?” 

“Yes,” Clint nodded. 

“No, I mean, how do you identify?” Bucky asked. 

Clint repeated, “Yes.” 

Well, he tried. 

“And not that it matters,” Clint continued, “But that right there?” 

He pointed at Steve’s ass. 

“That is a national goddamned treasure,” Clint said. “Look at it. It’s practically begging you. ‘Hey Bucky, you should totally pound me into next week’. Did you hear that?” 

“I heard some fuckface telling me fuckface things about my boyfriend’s ass,” Bucky shot back. 

Clint didn’t take it as the threat Bucky had vaguely intended. Instead, he stood right behind Steve and, with smoothie and bag in hand, began to thrust his hips. Nat could obviously see him out of the corner of her eye and shook her head. 

“I think Clint is pretending he’s pounding you,” she said. 

Clint stopped with his hips thrust all the way forward, just in time for Steve to turn around and see him. To cut the tension, Clint took an incredibly long sip of his smoothie. 

Steve laughed that easy laugh of his and told Clint, “That’s flattering, but I think my ass is taken.” 

He looked over his shoulder at Bucky and-- _ fuck _ \--winked right at him before returning to the jewelry case. He selected two packs and showed them to Bucky, “More barbells or should I go rings this time?” 

Bucky glanced around, then realized, “Me?” 

“Yeah,” Steve smiled back, “Which do you think?” 

“Uh,” Bucky shifted, skin suddenly becoming too tight, “They’re your nipples, Steve.” 

“He occasionally leases them out to you, I presume,” said Clint, “He’s asking your opinion. Because he cares about what you think of his nipples. Because he likes you and wants you to like his nipples.”

“Thank you, Clint, I understand social cues,” Bucky snipped back. 

Clint narrowed his eyes, “Do you, though?” 

“You know, it’s buy one get one for five dollars,” Nat piped up. “Don’t think I’m pressuring you into a sale, but you could get both. Never hurts to have some variety.” 

Steve looked at Bucky again. 

“I mean,” Bucky began, “She’s not wrong.” 

“All right, sold,” Steve said and stepped back so she could close the jewelry case. They walked back to the counter to find that another employee had materialized out of freaking nowhere. Dark, greasy hair hung in curtains around his sharp-featured face. His name tag read “Loki”, despite the fact that Bucky was sure he was looking at Severus Snape.

“Natasha, I believe I warned you about your friends loitering,” Loki said. 

“We’re not loitering,” Steve jumped in. “I’m a paying customer who, thanks to your sales associate, purchased more than he intended to when he first came in.” 

Bucky adored Steve, really and truly. Everyone annoyed Bucky on some level or another--even mom and Becca had their moments--but Steve never had. Someone could sew him to Steve this afternoon and Bucky was pretty sure it wouldn’t faze him in the slightest. 

Having said that, Steve could be such a do-gooder little shit sometimes. 

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Loki told Steve. “I meant that one.” 

He pointed to Clint, who now tried to hide behind the display of Supernatural merchandise. 

Steve handed Nat a plastic card without taking his eyes of Loki and declared, “That one’s with me.” 

Nat bit her lips shut and swiped the card. Steve signed his receipt with all the fury of a scornful labrador retriever and tugged both Bucky and Clint out of the store with him. 

“Woo, do I hate that guy,” Clint shook his head. “Creepy as fuck.” 

“No shit,” Bucky folded his arms over his chest. “Guy made me feel like a creep just by looking at him.” 

Clint hummed in affirmation. “Well, at least I can finally get this home,” he said and reached in his bag to pull out (despite Bucky and Steve’s protests)--

“A shirt?” Bucky asked, finding himself a little disappointed. 

“What?” Clint cocked his head. Then it hit him. “I’m seventeen, they won’t let me buy sex toys. That’s what the internet is for.” 

“Wow,” Steve’s eyebrows went all the way up. 

“Yup,” Clint nodded. “All right, I’m gonna head home. My brother needs the van.” He rolled his eyes in a silent, ‘don’t ask’ and gave them a final goodbye before heading back toward the parking structure. 

“Well,” Steve said. “After that enlightening exchange, I think I’m gonna go put these rings in now.” 

Temporary paralysis set in and Bucky found himself unable to do anything but imagine Steve fiddling with his nipples. When the moment passed, Bucky had to jog to catch up to him and still didn’t even catch him until they were right outside the bathroom. 

“Oh, good,” Steve smiled. “I was worried I’d have to do this myself.” 

Bucky didn’t say a word, just backed Steve into a stall as soon as they stepped inside. Lemon-scented cleaner really dulled the heat in Bucky’s middle, but that didn’t stop him from unzipping Steve’s sweater and pushing it off of his shoulders. He would’ve done away with the too-blue shirt too, but he stopped when he saw the graphic design: two baseball bats, helmets, and a baseball, under which the words “Switch Hitter” were written in white. 

“Are you kidding me,” he said. 

“Oh, come on, this is funny,” Steve’s little half-smile did all the convincing for him. Something about it put Bucky on edge, but, objectively, it was pretty funny. 

“Okay, but I’m not kidding,” said Bucky. “Show me your tits or I’m gonna die.” 

The half-smile simmered down into a smirk and Steve lifted up his shirt. 

First: Bucky could have done laundry on this guy’s stomach. 

Second: Though missing a ball, the barbell was still neatly nestled in Steve’s right nipple. The left barbell still had all its parts. 

Third: Bucky must have a brain tumor or something, because he did not recall telling his hands to touch Steve Rogers’ chest. 

He attempted to remove his hands, but (even if they had cooperated) Steve held Bucky’s wrists steady. The front of the shirt fell over their hands, but  _ god _ , Steve was all muscle and warmth and it was just unfair. 

Bucky let his hands roam just a little. They didn’t leave Steve’s chest, but the man had ample room to roam up there. He ended with taking the barbell out of Steve’s nipple and holding it out in his palm. 

“Trade you,” he said. 

Steve fumbled to open the new barbells, but managed to keep them from flying out of the package. He handed one to Bucky and took the other. 

Okay, so count ‘putting in Steve’s nipple ring’ on the Top Five Most Erotic Moments in Bucky Barnes’ Life. 

Then Steve leaned in and kissed him and nope, strike the previous statement. With the cold metal door of the men’s room stall on his back and the thick heat of Steve pressed against his front, this kiss definitely took at  _ least _ the first five spaces on that list. 

They broke apart when they heard the door open. The last thing they needed was to be arrested for public indecency and wind up on the 11 o’clock news. That would not go over well. 

Bucky crouched onto the toilet, wincing at the sound his metal hand made against the stall. Steve was trying not to laugh but doing so in such a spectacularly obvious way that it didn’t really make that much of a difference. Still, Bucky flipped him off and tried to remain quiet as the unmistakable sound of urine hitting porcelain filled the room. 

Steve exited the stall first (after putting his shirt back on, of course), taking care not to call attention to himself. Bucky couldn’t say the plan made sense because he didn’t even know what it was. Steve left first and Bucky came out five minutes later, hoping no one would make a connection to the Two Dudes, One Stall scenario? 

Bucky flushed to a deep crimson when, before he could give himself the go-ahead, a frantic man in a Starbucks uniform busted into the stall. Whether or not he found the crouching teenager atop the toilet disturbing, he didn’t make known. He just shot Bucky a desperate look and said, “C’mon, man, four coffees and a bran muffin. I can’t hold out much longer.” 

Needless to say, Bucky had no problem leaving the bathroom knowing that. 

Steve waited for him just outside the door. 

“Way to bail, asshole,” Bucky gave him a shove. 

“Hey!” Steve pretended that the shove threw him off balance. 

Okay, it’s kind of hard to be mad at someone who’s that goddamn cute. 

Except pretending to be thrown off balance actually threw him into an employee who was trying to straighten up a stack of trays in the food court, which promptly clattered to the floor. A group of douchenozzles at the edge of the food court stood up and applauded. 

“Ah, jeez,” Bucky heard Steve say. He may have called, “Hang back, Buck, I gotta help her”, but he was so fixated on the douchenozzles because he knew those douchenozzles. 

How in the hell did he keep running into Rumlow and Schmidt--ugh and even Schmidt’s weird albino roly-poly cousin Arnie--everywhere he went? He’d managed to go months without running into them and suddenly they were everywhere. 

And that’s when Bucky realized he’d spent almost six months of precious free time in his fucking house with a permanent case of the panic sweats. 

“Barnes, what the fuck?” Rumlow held out his arms. “Where you been?” 

Schmidt and Arnie snickered to themselves, but the handful of other guys from the team at the table seemed to feel similar to Rumlow’s (incredibly facetious) statement. 

Bucky’s first instinct was to run to Steve. 

Fucking pathetic as it was, Bucky wanted to burrow into Steve and let that stupid asshole fight every single one of his battles for him. 

“Barnes!” Schmidt called, but Bucky was stuck. Running wasn’t going to happen, and telling them to go fuck themselves wasn’t either, and crying in the middle of the food court was  _ definitely _ not an option, no matter how many times mom told him it was okay to cry. 

Why wouldn’t they leave him alone? 

In answer to this unasked question, the universe replied by throwing a steak fry at his head (via Rumlow). 

“Hey!” 

Steve was suddenly right by Bucky’s side, maybe a little bit closer to the epicenter of douche than Bucky. 

“You got a fuckin’ problem?” Steve asked, voice no longer warm and welcoming. This was his war voice. 

“Is that Steve Rogers?” Rumlow asked. One of the many disadvantages of staying in one place for so long: you went to school with more or less the same group of people all twelve years. 

“Doesn’t matter who it is,” said Steve. “What are you doing throwing shit at my friend?”

“Barnes is your friend?” Rumlow laughed, “Better watch your ass around that guy.” 

Bucky had never witnessed Steve react so quickly. It took all Bucky had in him to snag him by the back of the shirt and keep him from tearing out Rumlow’s throat. 

“Bucky, let me go!” Steve tried to twist away, but Bucky held him firm. 

“Not worth it, trust me,” Bucky muttered. 

“Just one,” Steve said. “Just one fuckin’ hit--” 

“Let it go,” Bucky advised. It was much easier to say than follow, especially for Steve. “I promise, you don’t have to defend my honor.” 

“I’m not doing it ‘cause of that I’m doing it because _ he needs his fucking face caved in _ !” Steve shouted the last part. 

“Steve, please,” Bucky pleaded. 

That more than anything settled Steve’s ire--not a lot, but just enough that Bucky could let him go and there wouldn’t be a full on food court brawl. 

“Let’s go,” Bucky said. Steve turned to him, presumably to argue his case, but everything softened the moment he looked Bucky in the eye. Now, when Bucky said, “Let’s just go,” Steve followed without a word. 

He was grateful for the silence, because that meant he could work out just what he was going to say to Steve when he inevitably interrogated him later on. 

“What was that?” 

Or, as soon as they got into the car. 

“Just… don’t worry about it, all right?” Bucky sighed and ran his flesh fingers through his hair. 

Too short. 

Why did that make him feel so naked all of a sudden? 

“Bucky,” Steve said softly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Bucky told him, “I’m not looking at you because I know exactly the face you’re making and I don’t want to see it.” 

Bucky took a few breaths and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. He would be okay. Shit just took time to get over, right? He just had to box it up, put it on a shelf, and maybe burn it until only the ashes remained. 

“Did something happen?” Steve asked. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bucky said. “I just want to forget about it, pick up some ice cream for my sister, and go home.” 

There was a long pause before Steve asked, “Can I hang out with you?” 

Bucky’s throat cramped around the sob he was trying so desperately to hold in. He thought he’d swallowed it back, but it came out and made Bucky’s “Yes please” sound even more pathetic than it already was. 

He felt a warm hand settle between his shoulder blades and rub large, soothing circles. 

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Just… remember that, okay?” 

Bucky nodded. 

If there was one person anyone in the world could rely on, it was Steve.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ****WARNING**:** Please, please, PLEASE if you have not read through the tags, now is your time to do so (at least do it before you get near the end of the chapter). There aren't any flashbacks or any graphic word-for-word descriptions of the assault itself, but PLEASE heed the tags. Bucky is not in a good place mentally or emotionally, but I want you all safe and sound. 
> 
> If you see anything I've forgotten to tag, please let me know.

“So, he  _ is  _ your boyfriend.” 

“I mean, I think so,” Steve said, drumming his fingers on his mug. His tea was still too hot to drink, and even if it wasn’t he would never look quite as good as Peggy did when she drank hers. Now, for instance: she lifted her floral tea cup to her lips and sipped, all the while never taking her eyes off of Steve via computer screen. 

“We just haven’t said it, I guess,” Steve shrugged under the weight of her stare. The second Peggy had agreed to be his girlfriend, he’d wanted to shout it from the mountain tops. He’d settled for a changed relationship status on Facebook and a loud declaration to his friends. With this…? 

“It’s different, Peg,” he said, “When it’s two guys? I don’t know, around here you gotta be careful what you say and how you say it, and who you say it to.” 

Peggy cocked her head, then conceded, “I suppose so. That’s a shame; he’s quite gorgeous.” 

Steve couldn’t help his cheeks going pink. 

“He is, isn’t he?” he grinned at her. Even in his tiny corner picture at the bottom of the screen, Steve could see that he looked absolutely stupid with affection for Bucky. 

“It’s all very romantic,” Peggy considers, a hint of a smile teasing her perfectly painted lips upward. 

“Shut up, not even,” Steve full on blushed now. He didn’t mind romance, but it had never been his forte. 

“Steve, you’ve gone back to where you grew up, found the boy you fancied when you were younger, and now you two are… whatever it is that you are,” Peggy made a vague gesture and tipped back the rest of her tea. She looked right back at him, “That sounds awfully romantic to me, darling.” 

“I know,” Steve finally took a drink from his mug. Whatever Lipton’s concoction he’d nuked for himself in the microwave was nothing compared to whatever Peggy was drinking three thousand miles away from (and three whole hours behind) him. 

“Then why the pout?” she asked. 

“I’m not pouting!” Steve insisted. “There’s nothing to pout about, so…”

Another arch of the brow. 

Damn it, she was good. 

“Something happened to him,” Steve told her. “I don’t know what, but he’s just not the same.” 

“Well, neither are you,” Peggy pointed out. 

“I know  _ that _ ,” Steve said, “I meant that something traumatizing happened.” 

“Didn’t you say his father passed while you were here?” Peggy asked. 

“Yeah, but that’s not it,” Steve sighed and sat back in his chair. “I don’t wanna push it, y’know? There’s a saying and I can’t remember it right now, but… I don’t know, he’s plugged up, but it’s probably best to let him stay plugged.” 

Peggy, her chin now resting on her upturned palm, frowned back. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she told him just as he snapped his fingers and remembered: 

“Let sleeping dogs lie,” he said, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Wow, that was gonna haunt me forever.” 

“We wouldn’t want that,” Peggy chuckled. She let it die out, descend into some undecipherable expression as she said, “You do look happy, though.” 

“Yeah,” Steve supposed, “Doesn’t mean I don’t miss the hell outta you, though.” 

Peggy smiled, “I miss you too.” 

“You should come visit me,” Steve told her. “Or maybe I’ll come back and see you. The guys too, but mostly you.”

“I would love that,” Peggy said, then paused, looking of screen. Voices made sounds, but Steve couldn’t make out the words through the speakers. Peggy rolled her eyes and turned back to Steve, “Hang on, my mum’s calling me. I’ll be back in two shakes.” 

And, like the universe just  _ knew _ , Steve’s bedroom door swung open at that exact moment and in walked Bucky. He dragged his feet all the way over to Steve’s bed and sat down right on the edge. 

Shit.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked. 

“Becca’s got friends over,” Bucky flopped back. “So much chatter. I couldn’t take it.” 

“Poor you,” Steve smiled. He couldn’t help it, really. Bucky just put a smile on his face no matter what he did. 

A noise rustled out of his laptop speakers, and there sat Peggy once again. 

“Well, that was painfully unnecessary,” she said, and just like that Bucky sat bolt upright. Peggy jumped too. 

“What the hell?” he asked. 

“How long has he been there?” Peggy’s eyebrows flew up. 

“Ten seconds,” Steve answered, then looked to Bucky. “Buck, this is Peggy. Peg, this is Bucky.” 

“What the fuck, you wanna give me a little warning next time?” Bucky patted around for something to toss at his head, but there was nothing. “Christ, how is it so neat in here?” 

“Because I clean,” Steve said. “Unlike some people I could mention who are in the developmental stages of a hoarding disorder.” 

“Rude,” Bucky reached up and flicked his ear. 

Peggy bit her lips to keep her laughter at bay. 

“Hi, Peggy,” Bucky waved. “Sorry I scared you. I didn’t realize Steve had company… virtual company, anyway.” 

“It’s all right, Bucky,” Peggy smiled. “Nice to meet you as well.” 

“You’re even prettier than all your pictures,” Bucky told her. 

“Oh, now who’s the suck up?” Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Still you,” Bucky sat forward, elbows on his knees and a damn charming smile on his face. “Is he like this with you, or do I get special assholery?” 

“Fuck you!” Steve reached back blindly to smack him on the shoulder. 

He ended up jabbing a finger in Bucky’s ear. 

“Whoops.” 

“Ass,” Bucky muttered and scooted half an inch away, all the while rubbing his ear. 

“Yeah, I’m the ass,” Steve rolled his eyes and turned back to Peggy. “Every day now. This is what I have to deal with.” 

Peggy chuckled, “I’d feel bad for you if I didn’t think you deserved it.”

Bucky’s eyes went big and face went goofy, because, “Ha-ha, she likes me more than you.” 

“Well, she doesn’t know you, so that makes sense,” Steve quipped back. He could only see it in the tiny square on the bottom corner of the screen: Bucky tugged on the back of his chair, probably meaning to scoot him back closer to the bed. 

That was not what happened. 

Before Steve knew it, he was flat on his back with his legs up in the air. He could hear Bucky laughing and Peggy’s sharp intake of breath, quickly followed by, “Steve, are you all right?” 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Bucky kept laughing as he kneeled beside him. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, you jackass,” Steve let out a laugh of his own. The rush of adrenaline had him feeling kooky, had him smiling up at Bucky even though he threw him down to the floor. He reached up and pulled Bucky in by the edges of his hood, because this face had definitely gone too long without being kissed. 

“Steve?” Peggy called from up in the computer. “Steve, you’re not doing anything unsavory down there, are you?” 

Steve held onto Bucky tighter, crushed their lips together harder. Each second that passed had his chest feeling lighter, his smile feeling easier. 

Something pinged on the computer. 

“All right, Dum Dum is asking to be added to the call, Steven,” Peggy said, “I’m putting him through. You two’d better brace yourselves.” 

Another pop on the computer, just as Bucky pulled away from him. Steve held him still. 

“Sorry,” Steve whispered, “If I’d known you were coming over I woulda rescheduled these.” 

“Yoo-hoo,” Dum Dum called. “Calling Captain Rogers, come in Captain Rogers.” 

“This is just a picture of his room,” Morita’s voice came through next. 

“Shit,” Steve screwed his eyes shut. 

“Steven,” Peggy said again. “You’re going to have to come up for air eventually. I’ve got it on good authority you can’t hold your breath for longer than--”

“All right!” Steve exclaimed. “Man, you’re relentless.” 

He looked right back at Bucky and dropped his voice again. “You wanna meet my friends?” he asked. 

Bucky turned a nervous eye on the laptop. Though he was still out of range for the webcam, he ducked down further. 

“You don’t have to,” Steve told him. “I wanna tell ‘em about you, though. Can I tell ‘em you’re my boyfriend?” 

Something flashed on Bucky’s face. 

“Hello?” Dum Dum said again. “I’ve got an appointment in twenty minutes, Rogers, get your ass up here.” 

Bucky moved so Steve could do just that. 

“There he is!” Morita grinned. “And just as handsome as the day he left, I tell ya what.” 

“Sorry, some asshole knocked me over and wouldn’t let me back up,” Steve explained. Dum Dum and Morita were in the same frame, looking just as they had the day Steve had said goodbye to them. Morita was more or less the California beach bum stoner type, while Dum Dum looked like he unicycled out of a steampunk universe and right into a piercing parlor. 

After exchanging smiles and excited waves, Morita was the first to ask, “Who’s that behind you?” 

Bucky had appeared in the frame just by Steve’s arm. He sat on his knees, ready to duck back out again if necessary. 

“Fellas, this is--”

“--some asshole,” Bucky finished. 

“--My boyfriend, Bucky,” Steve tried to keep his laugh to himself. Only, Bucky saw him, which made him laugh, and Bucky laughing made Steve laugh, and soon they were leaning on one another for support. This was his boyfriend. 

Bucky Barnes was his boyfriend. 

“This is kinda gross, I won’t lie,” Dum Dum said. “Ho, I’m not there to spritz you with the water bottle, Rogers, you gotta self regulate.” 

“Shit,” Steve caught his breath, reaching out to steady himself on Bucky’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t sass him too hard, Dugan. The man’s a fan of your handiwork.”

“Wait, what?” Bucky’s laugh would down. “Whose handiwork?” 

Dum Dum tipped his bowler hat Bucky’s way. 

“First set of nipples I ever pierced,” Dum Dum swelled with pride. “Not the last, rest assured. Seriously, I do have a Prince Albert coming up in a couple minutes, so if you’re gonna catch us up, you gotta do it now.” 

“You pierced Steve’s nipples?” Bucky asked. 

“Indeed I did,” Dum Dum said. “Now, who are you and what do you want with our Steve?” 

“Uh,” Bucky looked to Steve, and Steve rolled his eyes at Dum Dum. 

“Man, I wanted you to meet him, not interrogate him,” he said. “Why’s he gotta have an agenda?” 

“Yeah, who’s to say Steve’s not the one with an agenda,” Morita chimed in. “Look at that face. I’d wanna kiss it.” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, “Thank you? Uh…” 

“Jim,” Peggy told him. 

“Jim.”

“He’s just as good looking as you said,” Morita grinned and Steve felt his cheeks heat up. 

_ Gabe Jones wants to join this call _ . 

Steve clicked him through. 

“Wow, so everyone’s here before me,” Gabe said before his camera brought him into view. He sat with his back against the plain white walls of his bedroom, and cocked his head when he saw that Steve wasn’t alone. 

“Hey Gabe,” Steve greeted. “This is my boyfriend Bucky.” 

“Wow,” Gabe’s eyebrows went up. “Man, you’re in Brooklyn for five minutes and you got a boyfriend? Killin’ it, Rogers. You’re killin’ it.” 

“That’s gross, but thanks, I guess,” Steve wrinkled his nose. 

Though Dum Dum had to leave in the middle to go take care of his appointment, Morita stayed and worked his magic, and suddenly Bucky’s shoulders loosened up. He relaxed enough to tell them about his mom and sister, but not much else. Thankfully, everyone else had more than enough to say. When Dum Dum came back and regaled them all with the gritty details of piercing a penis, Bucky laughed right along with them. 

An hour and a half flew by. Bucky was left yawning and resting his head on Steve’s arm before everyone even left the call. As soon as everyone hung up, Steve shut his computer and dragged Bucky up to his feet. 

“Were you on your knees that whole time?” Steve asked, trying not to maneuver the metal arm too much. 

“You have nice carpet,” Bucky replied. “But also I have knees of steel.” 

“Good to know,” Steve grinned and set Bucky down on the bed. He immediately flopped back and stretched out in Steve’s sheets, making himself at home. Steve sat beside him and ran his fingers through his soft, dark hair. 

Bucky hummed, “Feels nice.” 

“Good,” Steve smiled. “Here, put your head in my lap.” 

Bucky shifted so his head rested right on Steve’s thigh. His eyes fluttered shut, his breathing evened out as Steve kept stroking his hair. 

“Your friends are nice,” he said around another yawn. “Crazy, but nice. Kinda like you.” 

“Hey,” Steve pretended to take offense, but the laugh that came out along with it betrayed him. 

“I see why you miss ‘em,” Bucky told him. “Peggy’s pretty.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, “Not as pretty as you.” 

“Horseshit,” Bucky cracked an eye open. “That’s a bald-faced lie, Rogers.”

“Yeah, that was pretty bad,” Steve admitted. “Though I bet you wouldn’t look half bad in some fire engine red lipstick.”

Bucky flipped him off. 

“Careful,” Steve warned, not prepared for Bucky to recite along with him, “It’ll get stuck like that.” 

Steve laughed as Bucky added, “Ass.” 

**oo**

Halloween had always been one of Steve’s favorite holidays. When he was younger, smaller, and more asthmatic, it was the one night of the year that he got to feel like he was someone big and strong; as he got older, bigger, and stronger he felt a pull toward the holiday for a much grander purpose. 

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” 

Stuck out on Bucky’s stoop, Steve flipped up his star-spangled shades and looked down at himself: jeans, an old pair of Nikes (that he’d spraypainted gold), a Mickey Mouse sweater over a  _ Coca-Cola _ t-shirt, and (not that he could see it) atop his head sat one of those paper crowns from Burger King. 

“I’m Captain Capitalism,” he said. Was it really not that obvious? 

Bucky narrowed his eyes and looked Steve up and down a few times, then asked, “Are you serious?” 

“Well, what the hell are you?” Steve asked. “You’re not even dressed yet.” 

“There’s no ‘yet’,” Bucky said. “I don’t have a fuckin’ costume. Let’s just go.” 

“Whoa,” Steve held out his hand against Bucky’s chest. “Tony said you can’t come if you don’t have a costume.” 

“Tony can eat my shit,” Bucky shot back. When Steve didn’t relent, Bucky groaned, “Come on, dude, I don’t have a costume and I just want to smoke some pot and sit on Tony’s couch and eat candy with you.” 

“Hey, I’m all for that,” Steve said. “But knowing Tony he’ll actually exile you from the house until you find a costume.” 

“I got dick-all to wear in my closet, Rogers,” Bucky argued. 

“You have  _ something _ ,” Steve said. “Just throw something on and call it a costume. Wear your baseball uniform--yeah! Wear your baseball uniform and we can go together as ‘America’s Greatest Pastimes’.” 

“Fine!” Bucky exclaimed. “Jesus, does Captain Capitalism have an ‘off’ switch, or are you just gonna squawk at me all night?” 

“I’m allowing the wealth of my knowledge to trickle down to you,” Steve replied, “I’d think you’d be a little more grateful.” 

Bucky groaned, but conceded and led Steve back into the house with him. 

A little space had cleared out in one corner of the room, a fact that Steve had just opened his mouth to share. However, upon noticing the sudden tension in Bucky’s jaw, he thought better of it and decided to keep quiet. 

Bucky practically fell into his closet, he had to dig so deep. How long had he planned on keeping that uniform there, exactly? 

Steve didn’t have time to think about it before Bucky’s t-shirt smacked him in the face. 

“Hey!” 

“That’s what you get.” 

Steve pulled the shirt from his face, only to have his smile die right there. Bucky hadn’t so much as worn short sleeves around Steve in the last two months. Even on the unseasonably warm days they’d been having, Bucky kept himself covered. Now he stood right in Steve’s line of sight, nothing covering his torso other than his thin white tank top--

Steve saw where skin scarred over metal. These kinds of prosthetics were high-tech, but the procedure to install them had yet to take aesthetics into account. It was messy, and Steve had definitely seen worse, but Bucky wasn’t a wounded veteran. Bucky was a seventeen year old kid, and that kind of thing just wasn’t supposed to happen yet. 

“Bucky,” Steve didn’t realize he’d stood up, nor did he realize he’d crossed the room. He was just there in front of Bucky in what felt like the blink of an eye. 

And Bucky wouldn’t even look at him. 

“‘s’it stupid to say I forgot?” he did ask, however. 

Steve shook his head. 

“You can, um,” Bucky swallowed, “You can touch it, if you want. It looks kinda gross, but. Y’know, never mind. That’s dumb to say and--” 

He fell silent as Steve’s hand pressed right against the seam of scar tissue that divided flesh from prosthetic. 

“My dad’s got a couple of friends with these,” Steve said. “They say they can still feel their arms or legs sometimes.” 

Bucky nodded. 

“It’s like,” he frowned, searching for the right words, “I can feel your hand on my shoulder, and I know it stops. But my brain just fills in the blank, I guess, and it’s almost like I can feel the whole thing.” 

“That’s weird,” said Steve. “I can’t even imagine how weird that’s gotta be.”

“It is,” Bucky nodded. 

And then he leaned forward and slipped his arms around Steve’s waist and just held on. He let Steve hug him back, let Steve kiss the side of his head and stroke the back of his neck with his fingertips. 

“Thanks,” Bucky murmured. Nonspecific, but Steve was pretty sure he knew what Bucky meant by it. 

When Bucky was finally ready, they bid Winnie and Becca goodbye upstairs and hopped on Steve’s motorcycle out front. Steve had to fold up his crown and put it in his pocket so it wouldn’t get squished under his helmet. Bucky, meanwhile, held onto Steve like his life depended on it before Steve even started up the engine. 

Not that he was going to complain about Bucky being so close to him, mind you. Steve loved being close to Bucky, and it was starting to feel like Bucky didn’t mind being so close to him either. Hell, the guy kissed Steve like he was the only thing keeping him on the ground most of the time (which, again, Steve couldn’t say he minded). 

The fact that Bucky ended just about every bike ride with a massive erection pressing into Steve’s back was icing on the cake. 

“Need some help with that?” Steve asked as soon as he parked in front of Tony’s. 

“Blow me,” Bucky muttered after he pried the helmet off of his head. 

“Yeah?” Steve turned to look at him. Pressuring people wasn’t the way to go, and Steve had a lot of strong feelings about this, but he was still a teenager and even he wasn’t immune to offering an occasional unwarranted sexual advance.

He was just about to open his mouth to apologize, but Bucky’s forehead collided with the top of his spine and he practically whined, “You couldn’t have offered when we were in my bedroom?” 

“You didn’t have your hard-on pressed right up on me in your bedroom, jerk,” Steve shot back. “Don’t act like I’m not ready to suck your dick at any given time.” 

Bucky groaned. 

“Here’s the deal,” said Steve, “We’re gonna go inside, we’re gonna hang out, and when everyone is distracted we can sneak upstairs and I can suck your dick in that fancy bathroom up on the third floor.” 

Bucky let out another groan, and this time cried out to the world at large, “Why are you torturing me like this?” 

“Hey, you say the word and I’ll suck you off right behind those bushes.” 

Which, of course, Steve said right as a group of parents were carting their children down the street. Bucky stifled his laugh against Steve’s neck, while Steve just waved and bid them, “Happy Halloween.” 

With the promise of revisiting this later, Steve and Bucky got off of the bike and walked up to Tony’s front door.  They only had to knock once before the door swung open and Tony greeted them dressed like--

“Wait, what are you?” Steve asked. 

“He’s a fucking fraud is what he is!” they heard Bruce call from inside. 

Tony, with gray streaked in his hair and a bowtie capping off his three piece suit, said, “I’m Thomas Edison.” 

At which point Bruce appeared at the door right beside him, dressed somewhat similarly, and argued, “Because I told you I was going to dress as Tesla like two weeks ago and you decided to be a shithead and dress like Edison, except, news flash, you dressed as a shithead for Halloween and you’re already a shithead so where the fuck is your costume?” 

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Tony looked back at him. 

“You’re an asshole,” Bruce said. 

“And you have no idea how to take a joke,” Tony replied, then cocked his head, smug. “Maybe once you become an American citizen, you’ll be able to appreciate American humor, Nikola.” 

Steve only got between them just in the nick of time, because any longer and Bruce would have made good on his very loud, “I’ll kill you, you little shit!” 

“So angry,” Tony sucked his teeth, then ran when Bruce pursued him through the foyer and into the kitchen. 

Steve and Bucky followed them, ready to run interference if need be. Once in the kitchen, though, it appeared that Tony had already taken refuge behind Nat, who wore a long sleeved black crop top and army green cargo pants. Clint was dressed almost identically, though in gray pants instead of green, and he had with him a pale peach stuffed animal. 

“Are you two actually Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable?” Bucky laughed, completely ignoring the yelp Tony made when Bruce lunged at him again and chased him from the room. 

“See!” Clint exclaimed, looking directly at Thor (who was dressed as a bottle of ketchup), “I told you people knew who they were.” 

“I did not grow up watching that cartoon, Clint,” said Thor. 

“You were still way more adamant about how not-real these cartoon characters were,” Clint reminded him, “And you’re the one who wore a matching costume with your cat, so I don’t wanna hear it.” 

“She’s a cat, but I dressed her as a dog,” Thor explained to Steve and Bucky with a smile, “A hotdog.”

“Which brings me to my next point,” Clint insisted, “Who the hell over the age of six eats ketchup on their hotdog?” 

“It is far more common than I think you think it is,” Thor furrowed his eyebrows.

“The National Hot Dog and Sausage Council--”

“That’s not real,” Thor narrowed his eyes. 

“--states that any person who uses ketchup on their hotdog and is over the age of eighteen is a… wiener. And not in a good way.” 

Nat turned to Clint and shared the look Steve was certain everyone was giving him. 

“You’re just gonna end it like that?” she asked. 

Clint responded by grabbing a handful of chips out of the bowl on the counter and stuffing them all in his face at once. 

Then he looked at both Bucky and Steve. Nat had been sizing them up since they first got in here (with the exception of Clint and Thor’s sidebar) but Clint was way more impatient. 

“Baseball player?” Clint asked. “You’re supposed to be--”

“I don’t play baseball anymore,” Bucky cut him off. 

“And you, Steve?” Nat asked. 

“I’m Captain Capitalism.” 

Nat smiled and nodded, “Right on, Cap.” 

“And hey, now that you’re here we can start the movie marathon,” Clint smiled. “Tony pulled out a bunch of Halloween movies. I brought Hocus Pocus with me, but apparently that’s not good enough for these high-brow douchewagons.” 

Nat rolled her eyes. 

“You can be on candy duty during the scary parts,” she said. 

Clint narrowed his eyes, but conceded, “Fine.”

They made their way into the den, Clint with two bowls of chips in his arms and Bucky with the candy clutched close to his chest, and Thor trying to maneuver his impossibly increased mass through the labyrinth of expensive art in the hall. 

They entered the den to find probably not the most terrifying thing they would ever see, but really, there wasn’t much of a reaction outside of abject horror to finding Thomas Edison on his knees with Nikola Tesla’s dick buried all the way down his throat. 

“Oh, come  _ on _ ,” Nat rolled her eyes. 

Tony and Bruce repelled in an instant, but it was too late. The damage had been done to everyone’s psyche. Clint reached up to shield Thor’s eyes from the sight, while Nat shook her head and looked at Steve like this was not the first time she’d had to deal with something like this. 

Bucky just hid his face in his flesh hand and tried not to draw attention to himself. 

“So, uh… fellas,” Clint said, “How long’s this been going on?” 

“Long enough,” Bruce muttered, not looking at any of them either. 

“Though I think if Tesla and Edison had solved their problems in a similar manner, we would’ve had an even bigger electrical revolution.”

“Tony,” Bruce snipped, “Not the time.” 

“Okay, but,” Clint raised his hand, as though waiting to be called on, “Don’t you have a boner for Pepper Potts?” 

“I do,” Tony put his hands on his hips, erection still apparent through his slacks, “And I’m gonna marry her one day.” 

At this, Bucky began to chuckle. 

“And what’s so fucking funny about that, Barnes?” Tony asked. 

“You just…” Bucky laughed up at  the ceiling, “You say that like she didn’t punch you in the face at that pep rally last year.” 

Steve couldn’t help the laugh that busted out of his chest, and apparently neither could anybody else. He hung onto Bucky’s good shoulder for support, then told them all, “I need to hear this story.” 

“You don’t,” Tony crossed his arms over his chest, his cheeks now a deep shade of ‘Fuck Every Last One of You’ pink. 

“Dude, how are you embarrassed about this but not getting caught sucking Bruce’s dick?” Clint asked. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and began to tap on the screen before Tony could answer. 

“I am a proud and evolved resident of the twenty-first century,” Tony declared. 

“Oh, boy,” Bruce pushed his fingers under his glasses and rubbed his eyes. 

“Not only that,” Tony continued, “I am a consenting adult--”

“You're seventeen,” Bruce reminded him. 

“--who doesn’t need an excuse to put a dick in his mouth whenever he goddamn well pleases!” 

“Oh, shut up,” Bruce rolled his eyes and stood. “It was more to get him to shut up than anything else.” 

While Clint still tapped on his phone, Nat raised her eyebrows at Bruce and asked, “Ace?” 

“Gray-ace, if you really want to split hairs, I guess,” Bruce clarified. “Sometimes we fuck around. Mostly when I want him to shut up.” 

Steve looked over at Bucky, who still looked like he was about to spontaneously combust from the hilarity of the whole thing. 

“Ah-hah! I found it!” 

Clint turned his phone screen toward everyone, making sure the sound was turned up all the way. Footage from what Steve recognized as the school gym played. 

“Where’d you get that?” Tony demanded all of a sudden. 

“An American hero had the foresight to put it on the internet,” Clint said. He looked at Steve and mouthed,  _ ‘It was me’ _ . 

_ “--’s Tony Stark to speak on behalf of the robotics club.”  _

_ “Thank you, Pepper. That shirt is very becoming on you--”  _

“Here it is,” Clint looked to be vibrating where he stood. 

_ “--if I was on you, I’d be coming too.” _

In the blink of an eye, he blonde girl standing beside Tony whipped around and socked him right on the jaw.

Steve hissed as Bucky and Clint busted up laughing. Nat rolled her eyes and Thor retracted and said, “That wasn’t even clever.” 

“Told him so the first time he said it to me, honestly,” Bruce let out a long-suffering. “Wouldn’t listen.” 

“I had my jaw wired shut for six weeks after that, but okay,” Tony reminded him with intensely passive aggression. 

But Bruce could hit it right back, “Best six weeks of my life.” 

“Six weeks with no blowjobs?” Tony’s eyebrows flew up. 

Bruce squinted, “What part of ‘asexual’ do you not get?” 

“The part where I’ve gotten a staunch atheist to praise Jesus how many times now?” 

Bruce snatched a mini Snickers bar off of the coffee table and whipped it right at Tony’s face. 

All of a sudden Bucky was right at Steve’s ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “Okay, but is it weird that I’m still kinda raring to go?” 

Steve shook his head. They’d have to wait, though. If they snuck off now, everyone would catch on, and nobody here needed to have two embarrassing fellatio stories from tonight. 

Everyone piled onto the couches surrounding the massive television in the den. The first movie queued up was  _ Psycho _ , the Hitchcock version. Steve had seen it a handful of times with the guys back in California, but he’d never seen it with Bucky nudged right up against his side, or his fingers intertwined with anyone else’s. He kind of liked it. 

As the night went on, Thor removed the bulk of his costume, but still wore red jeans with a red shirt and red socks (the guy was committed, to say the least); Tony and Bruce, in an effort to prove a point that no one needed or had asked them to make, sat on opposite ends of the room; Clint had sought refuge by burying his head in Nat’s lap, not at all interested in going out in the dark hallway now that he was good and spooked. This left Tony on candy duty, while Bruce took on Clint’s other unofficial duties as designated joint roller. 

While Tony ran back and forth between the front door and the den, the joint eventually made it around the room twice over.

“God,” Tony flopped back down beside Thor, ignoring the movie still playing, “if I see one more set of those winter princess sisters or whatever, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind. Where are all the creepy windowless vans in this fucking town when you need ‘em?” 

“Dude!” Clint exclaimed while Steve, through his haze, managed a deeply disturbed, “What the fuck is your problem?” 

“I’m just saying,” Tony held up his hands, “We hear about sexual predators and shit literally every other day of the goddamn year and yet somehow there are still kids coming to my door for candy.” 

“Could you maybe not make rape jokes at all?” Steve suggested, fire trying to fight through his lofty high, “Much less about little kids who just wanna have some damn fun one night out of the year?” 

Bucky had gone rigid beside him. 

Meanwhile, Tony continued to empty his clip right into his foot. 

“God, Rogers, come down off the high horse before you fall off and break your neck.”

“No,” Clint said, “That was really messed up.” 

“I’m joking!” Tony tried to backtrack. “What’s wrong with you guys?” 

“If your idea of a joke is child abduction, you might need to reevaluate your humor before someone kicks your teeth in,” Natasha said. “Because that wasn’t all that funny.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny,” Tony rolled his eyes. “It’s a satirical statement.” 

Steve’s high entered into a nosedive as he said, “It’s really not. Satire isn’t just saying something stupid and then telling everyone you’re kidding when they get offended. You have to come to the absurdly logical conclusion based on the system you’re satirizing.” 

“Wow, thanks a lot, Schoolhouse Rock,” Tony rolled his eyes. “And it’s not like I actually want anyone to get kidnapped and raped or whatever.” 

“Then why the fuck would you say it?” Steve challenged. 

“Because I thought it would be funny!” Tony said, now back on his feet. “But obviously I was mistaken, because someone can’t go two seconds without preaching. Good to know Nat can threaten to kick my teeth in and no one says a word, but child abductions and rape van jokes are off the table.” 

“Because they’re  _ not funny _ ,” Steve enunciated. 

“Maybe not to you,” Tony shot back. 

“Or to anyone that’s actually been raped, you asshole!” 

Everyone stopped and turned to Bucky, who sat there red in the face and looking like he might pop. 

That… he wasn’t saying what Steve thought he was saying, was he? 

Without another word, Bucky stood and left the den as fast as his feet would carry him. 

“Great,” Tony threw up his hands, “Now I’ve offended the fucking First Lady of PCland.” 

Steve had a very real dilemma in that  moment: punch Tony first and go after Bucky, or go after Bucky and punch Tony later?

Go after Bucky first. 

Steve left the room, glad to know that Bruce was now the one admonishing him. 

_ “You can’t just say shit like that! It’s not funny!”  _

_ “I don’t want anyone to get abducted! Why isn’t anyone listening?”  _

_ “Because you’re making jokes about shit that’s not funny!”  _

Steve pursued Bucky up to the second floor, following the sounds of his footsteps until he caught up to him halfway down the hallway. 

Steve tried to grab his shoulder, but Bucky threw him off. 

“Don’t touch me!” 

“Okay,” Steve put his hands up so Bucky could see. “Not touching. Sorry.” 

Bucky’s entire face had gone red, and to top off the freakout-o-meter, he let out a noise when he looked down at his uniform. 

He ripped the front of the shirt open, spraying the hallway with white opalescent buttons, and threw the offending garment far from them. He got rid of the baseball pants with the same amount of haste and disgust, though with his sneakers in the way it proved to be more of a challenge than the shirt. Steve could only watch, a helpless witness to his boyfriend’s self-destruction. 

He only stepped in when Bucky almost went stumbling back into some priceless-looking vase, pulling Bucky to him and holding him safe, steady. 

“Buck,” Steve tested the waters, but Bucky wouldn’t speak. He had his baseball pants around his ankles and under shirt hanging down over his boxers, and his face was buried deep in the crook of Steve’s neck. 

“It’s okay,” Steve rubbed a hand over Bucky’s back. “I’ve got you, you’re okay.” 

“I’m not,” Bucky hiccuped. “‘m not, Steve.” 

“I know,” Steve tried to keep his voice low, level. He kept repeating, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” until Bucky’s breathing evened out and his grip loosened up. 

“Can you get out of your pants?” Steve asked. 

Bucky sniffed hard and nodded. He kicked off his shoes and his baseball pants (and one of his socks) all in one go, leaving him in Steve’s arms in nothing but his undies. 

“C’mon, Tony’s room’s right here,” Steve massaged a hand over Bucky’s shoulder. “Maybe he’s got a pair of sweatpants that’ll fit.” 

He ducked and picked up Bucky’s discarded clothing and shoes, then followed him into the door on their left. 

Tony’s room was about what you’d expect: a lavishly large bed and a ridiculously advanced computer. It was a mess, but not like Bucky’s mess. Bucky’s mess had no rhyme or reason, while Tony’s appeared to be the clutter of a person who couldn’t even follow a thought process as linear as ‘take out the thing, use the thing, put the thing back’. 

“Okay, let’s see what he’s got in his dresser,” Steve narrated more for his sake than Bucky’s. He probably should have tried to be a little more considerate--maybe Bucky didn’t want him narrating--but it wasn’t much use trying to talk sense to himself right now. He pulled open the dresser drawers one by one until he found a set of sweatpants that, once on Bucky, rode up well past his ankles. 

“Thanks,” Bucky muttered. He didn’t look at Steve, just tugged the sleeves of his white shirt down as far as they would go. “Fuck, this is so stupid.” 

“It’s not,” Steve told him. “You--I don’t know what’s going on, and that freaks me out a little, I won’t lie, but…”

He trailed off when Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. His body wouldn’t be still. If he wasn’t shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his head would loll from one side to the other, and when he wasn’t doing that he would screw his eyes shut and rock back and forth.

“Bucky, please,” Steve’s hands found the back of his neck, “I'm scared, okay? Just tell me what's wrong.” 

Bucky covered his eyes with the heels of his palms and rubbed hard. 

“Turn around,” he said. 

Steve frowned, “Why?” 

“Because I have to tell you something,” Bucky told the floor, “And I can’t do it if I have to look at you.” 

Panic pierced through Steve’s gut like a lance, but he did as he was told. 

“You can’t talk either,” Bucky told him. 

“Okay!” Steve exclaimed. “I’m freaking out, will you just tell me already?” 

Silence stretched between them for a few moments, full of nothing but harsh breaths and the sound of Bucky’s teeth clicking against his fingernails. 

“The guys on the team all have this tradition of getting drunk and doing stupid crap on someone’s birthday,” Bucky began. “When my birthday came around, I got smashed with everyone else. I mean, I got fucking ruined, Steve. I can’t even remember much of anything that happened after a certain point. Just bits and pieces.” 

Bucky took a shaky breath. Steve’s guts filled with molten lead, heating him up so hot that he started to feel cool, but he let Bucky take his time. He could deal with the rage sweat breaking out on the back of his neck if it meant finding out what was wrong.

“After everyone else went home, one of the guys took me back to his house and we started fooling around, I guess? Like I said, I don’t remember a lot, just that… I know he, y’know. Didn’t stop when I told him to.” 

Steve whipped around. Bucky sat on Tony’s bed, folded over on himself, talking into his knees. No matter how much he wanted names and faces, no matter how high the flames of rage licked inside him, he couldn’t lose his cool about this. Not right now. That wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Bucky. 

“I should’ve fucking known, y’know?”

“No,” Steve shook his head and came to sit beside him, “Buck, that’s not your fault. None of it is. You were just--”

“Stupid,” Bucky offered.

“No,” Steve insisted again, “Someone took advantage of you. That’s not your fault.” 

“It is,” Bucky sniffed. “I appreciate you saying it’s not, but it is.” 

Steve’s heart clenched in his chest. How? How could anyone hurt Bucky? How could anyone take such an incredible light and try to snuff it out without a care?

“It’s not,” Steve said. “I promise.” 

Bucky let Steve drape his arm around him and rub his back. He was hot, sweating through his clothes, and shaking like a leaf. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

Steve shut his eyes, because if he kept them open he’d start crying. 

“You never have to apologize to me for anything like this,” he said.

“And god, downstairs,” Bucky remembered, “Fuck, that’s so embarrassing.” 

And what could Steve say? Nothing. There wasn’t anything, not a single thing, that Steve could do to make this better, and that was what was most infuriating. Steve wanted to fix things and there was no fixing this. 

“Tony’s an asshole,” is what he ended up saying which, while out of left field, was not an inaccurate statement. 

It didn’t seem to do much in the way of making Bucky feel better, though. 

“Can I do anything for you?” Steve asked. 

“Just,” Bucky sniffed hard and leaned over into Steve. No words or instructions followed, just the simple press of Bucky’s body against his. They sat like that for a while, Steve holding Bucky and Bucky trying to calm himself down. 

There wasn’t any way to tell how long they’d been sitting there, but it had to have been awhile. Bucky eventually sat up and wiped his face on his shirt. His face was red, puffy, and so were his eyes. 

“Can I touch you?” Steve asked. 

Bucky nodded, so Steve took care of business first and swiped Bucky’s tears off of his cheeks. 

“You’re more than what happened to you,” Steve told him. 

“Steve,” Bucky sighed, tired, “I don’t wanna hear that right now. I’m sorry.” 

He scooted close to Steve again and wrapped his arms around him. 

“Well, what do you want?” Steve asked. He would take off and tie a rope around the moon right this second if Bucky asked him to. 

“I think I need to stay here,” said Bucky. “Definitely away from Tony.” 

“Smart move,” Steve agreed. “You want me to stand watch?” 

Bucky shook his head. 

“I kind of just want to be asleep,” he said. “I don’t wanna go to sleep, I just wanna be asleep, y’know?” 

“Yeah, Buck, I know,” Steve hugged him closer. “Can I get you anything? Water? Some Snickers? I know they’re your favorite.”

Bucky sniffed hard and looked at him, “How do you know that?”

“Because you ate all the ones in the candy bowl during the movie,” Steve smiled. Bucky actively sought them and it was really cute, okay? He said, “I’ll bring you whatever you want, though.” 

“Snickers,” Bucky nodded. “Thank you.” 

Steve smiled back at him, “Sure thing. I’ll be right back.”

Walking away from Bucky just then was one of the hardest things Steve had ever had to do, hands down. His chest went tight again and his guts cramped around the white hot liquid rage that filled him. He didn’t want to interrogate Bucky, but Steve wanted a name, damn it. Name, address, schedule, and dealer’s choice of blunt instrument to work the fucker over beyond repair.

 

* * *

 

Bucky didn’t mention Rumlow. 

He didn’t mention Schmidt either. 

He didn’t mention that he still got flashes of being held down by his arms, or the very vivid sensation of needing to get away. 

He didn’t tell Steve that he thrashed and thrashed and thrashed until the bones in his arm shattered. 

He didn’t tell Steve about the hospital the following day, or about how his mom and Becca still thought he’d injured himself by playing a stupid game with baseball bats and mailboxes. 

He didn’t tell Steve he hadn’t been blackout drunk, but he wished he had. 

He wished he didn’t have to remember any of it. 

Steve was a good boyfriend, though. He brought Bucky candy and let him lie here in the dark of Tony’s bedroom with nothing but the sound of an aquarium filter humming in the other corner of the room.

Bucky didn’t really tell Steve the truth, but Steve knew more of the truth than anyone else did. 

He could’ve told Steve. 

He should’ve told Steve. 

But Rumlow’s face appeared in his mind’s eye right before he could, saying that same thing he’d said to Bucky in the hospital the day after it had happened. 

_ “Tell anyone and you’re fucked, Barnes. You think this is bad? You don’t even know what’s coming if you tell anyone what went down.”  _

Bucky really should have told Steve. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

After Halloween, Bucky tried to keep a low profile. It wasn’t that his new friends made him feel as though he had to--in fact, the opposite was true: even Tony had attempted to apologize several times since the incident. Keeping to himself had more to do with the whole having an emotional outburst about something very personal and he was very reticent to share with anybody, least of all a set of friends he’d only just made. 

The problem with keeping a low profile, however, was that people had to be willing to assist you in this endeavor. People had to be willing to give you your space as needed, no questions asked. 

Clint Barton was apparently not one of those people. 

Bucky hadn’t gone to school that morning. When his mom asked why, he’d made up something about catching a cold. Fortunately, being that Bucky was depressed and therefore looked like shit about 99% of the time, it hadn’t been a hard sell. Steve had suspected Bucky was lying through his teeth, but he’d decided to let it go. Steve was one of those people who knew what his friends needed and knew how to give it to them. 

Again, Clint Barton was apparently not one of those people. 

Bucky answered his front door in nothing but a pair of pajama pants and a swiss cheesed hoodie that he’d owned since time began. 

“So you  _ are _ alive.” 

Before he could think better of it, Bucky replied, “Unfortunately.” 

Clint regarded him only for a second before he concluded, “All right, well, if we’re gonna hang out you gotta cut that self-deprecating shit right here right now.” 

He pushed his way past Bucky and into the entryway, looking around like he’d never seen the inside of a house before. 

“Are you… what are you doing, exactly?” Bucky asked. 

“Waiting for you to get your shit together so we can hang out,” Clint replied, somehow maintaining his golden retriever brand of enthusiasm in the face of the black hole in front of him. 

“And why are we hanging out?” 

“Because we’re friends?” Clint offered. “And you haven’t returned any of my texts, which leads me to believe you’re depression nesting after what happened on Saturday.”

Bucky folded his arms over his chest. 

“I’m not…” 

Would it be possible to speed clean his room in thirty seconds, just to prove Clint wrong?

“Okay, well, like I said,” Clint shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, “Waiting for you to get your shit together. Can I wait on your couch instead of out here in this hallway? Not that it’s not lovely, but I feel like the other tenants might not have the best reaction to a twink like me hanging out in a common area.”

Bucky stared up at the ceiling. 

“There were just so many layers to that,” he said. “I’m trying to digest them all.” 

“Maybe you could digest them in some jeans and a sweater that doesn’t look like you’re a failed Sigmund and Roy intern.” 

Bucky flipped him off. 

He led Clint into the living room of their apartment and instructed, “Stay put, I’ll be out in like five minutes.” 

“Gee, I had no idea you were so high maintenance,” Clint said and then very dramatically draped himself over mom’s floral couch. “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. Barnes.” 

“Christ on sale,” Bucky rolled his eyes. 

He made quick work of getting ready downstairs. He pulled on his cleanest jeans and t-shirt, then his most in-tact black hoodie, because he was a depressed piece of shit excuse for a human and didn’t own anything else. 

When he came back upstairs, Clint had indeed moved from where he’d been placed, and--god--found the pictures. 

“It’s actually a comfort to see how goofy-looking you actually were,” Clint told him and plucked a specific picture off of the wall, “Especially on this, the day of your entrance into manhood.”

“Aw, come on,” Bucky groaned. “Leave the bar mitzvah pictures out of this.”

“Nah, lookit that little punim,” Clint pointed right at Bucky’s acne-ridden pizza-grease face. “Adorable.” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, “You’re not winning any points for the Yiddish, you know.” 

“Wasn’t trying to,” Clint replaced the photo. “I’m gonna plotz, you were adorable.” 

Bucky buried his face in his hands, because why? Why god? 

Why this?

“Doesn’t your hair catch in the metal?” 

Bucky’s stomach dropped for what felt like the millionth time since Saturday, and honestly? He was so far gone down the rabbit hole of suck that it just didn’t even faze him anymore. He fucked up, and he couldn’t even be bothered to care. 

“It does, actually,” he said. 

“Huh,” Clint nodded, “Well, if you’re ready, I am.”

Bucky frowned. 

“That’s it?” 

“What’s it?” Clint asked. 

“You’re not going to ask about why I have a metal hand?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“Nope,” Clint shook his head. “Now, if you wanted to tell me about it, I’d listen. Look, I even put in my good hearing aids this morning.” 

He pointed to his ears, which, upon closer inspection, were stuffed full of hearing aid. How… had Bucky really never noticed Clint wore hearing aids? 

God, what a dick. 

“However,” Clint continued, “Being that I too am a disabled, I won’t make you share. I hate when people do that, y’know? If I wanna tell you about ‘em, I will, and if you’re gonna ask me about ‘em, I’m just gonna take ‘em out, because you know what? I don’t have to listen to anyone’s bullshit if I don’t want to, and that, my friend, is the opposite of a disability.” 

Bucky didn’t quite know how to respond, so he unzipped his hoodie and pulled his metal arm out of its sleeve. He didn’t show Clint the hideous scarring on his shoulder, didn’t tell him any ins and outs of why he had the arm in the first place, but for once he was entirely sure that the person seeing it wouldn’t interrogate him about it. 

“Shiny,” is all Clint ended up saying. 

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded back. “I can’t feel anything, but it does what I tell it to do, which is pretty cool.” 

“Think you can do the robot still?” Clint asked. “You did a pretty mean robot at homecoming last year.” 

Bucky let out a laugh, “You remember that?” 

“Sure,” Clint shrugged. “That’s how I knew I liked you. Plenty of douchebags can pull off a passable robot, but only the pure of heart can bring the people together by sheer force of dance moves.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said. “I’m not sure that’s true, but thank you.” 

Clint looked him up and down, sizing him up. 

“You still dance at all?” he asked now. 

“Uh,” Bucky shifted his weight, “I haven’t for a while now.”

He didn’t much feel like dancing anymore. 

Clint nodded and tapped his chin, seeming to formulate a plan as they stood there. 

“What if we were to spend the afternoon getting your groove back?” he asked. 

“That’s an old reference,” Bucky said before he could help himself. 

“And that’s a piss poor attitude,” Clint told him and grabbed his backpack off of the couch. “Come on, I’ve got a plan.” 

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked, following Clint like a rat after the freaking pied piper. 

Clint turned to him, and with a smile declared, “We’re going to  _ Galaxy’s End _ .” 

**oo**

_ Galaxy’s End  _ had been a hole-in-the-wall arcade since the 1980s. Bucky and Steve used to go there a lot when they were younger, but after Steve moved away it was a little more difficult to enjoy. The games were all good, from what Bucky remembered, though, and he would be with Clint instead of being one of those people Bucky and Steve used to make fun of--the weirdos who would come to the arcade by themselves with a sack of quarters, a Big Gulp, and Dance Dance Revolution delusions of grandeur. 

… except with Clint he’d probably still look weird, because they were both pretty weird, but being weird with someone else was easier for some reason.

But, Bucky realized after two seconds in  _ Galaxy’s End _ , pretty much every arcade patron was weird as shit and there wasn’t an ounce of shame among them. 

“My people,” Clint gestured grandly and took a deep breath of stale sweat and dust mites, “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“It’s a crappy arcade, dude,” Bucky shrugged. “But beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, I guess.” 

“Damn right,” Clint nodded and smacked him on the shoulder. “C’mon, I got a sack of quarters in my backpack and a dream.” 

“Jesus,” Bucky muttered.

“You really gotta stop bringing him into this, man.” 

Clint grabbed him by the front of his hoodie and steered him toward the back of the arcade. The behemoth of a DDR machine stood as it had years before, its colors a little more faded and its sounds slightly more warped, but it blinked and bleeped with life out of what seemed like sheer defiance. 

As excited as Clint was to get his dance on, it turned out they had to wait. Two bodies occupied the light-up dance mats already, both of whom Bucky recognized. 

Today, Wade Wilson sported a t-shirt that read ‘ _ That’s Pan-tastic! _ ’ and a look of raw determination as he faced his opponent. Said opponent, otherwise known as Peter Quill, apparently had little to no regard for the fact that he was at work right now, and put every ounce of his will into wiping the floor with Wade.

Metaphorically, hopefully. 

“Well, well,” Wade said, not taking his eyes off the arrows on the screen, “Look what we’ve got here, Pete.” 

“Not doing it,” Peter shook his head. “You’re takin’ my high score from me over my dead body, Wilson.”

“Christ, I’m not actually talking to you,” Wade rolled his eyes.

“Then why would you say my name?”

“Because I’m establishing camaraderie between us in a scene that’s meant to add levity to a suddenly dark and upsetting storyline,” Wade told him. “Just shut up and learn how to be an ancillary living prop like the rest of us.”

Clint looked back at Bucky and mouthed a tired, “ _ Every time.” _

“What?” is all Bucky managed to say. 

“Nothing,” Wade waved him off. “Some of us don’t know how to be supporting one-hit-wonders.” 

Their attention focused back entirely on the game as it came to its conclusion, leaving both Peter and Wade jelly-legged and dance-lagged. 

“Great, our turn,” Clint clapped his hands. 

“Sure thing, gorgeous,” Wade winked at him, then looked at Bucky, “Your insatiable thirst for dick is both inspiring and unmatched in the modern world.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky snorted, “Clint’s just my friend, though.” 

“Well, you know better than anyone else,” Wade shrugged, “What’s a blowjob between friends? Especially cute ones.” 

He looked Clint up and down, and Clint looked about ready to abandon all plans for the afternoon. 

“Don’t you have anything better to do than hit on Clint?” Bucky asked. 

Wade let out a hearty  _ pfft _ and went, “Please.” 

Peter chose this moment to grab his work shirt--a deep burgundy button-down that read  _ Guardians of Galaxy’s End _ on the back--off of the bar behind the dance mat and shrug it over his shoulders. 

“Mora is gonna hand me my ass if she sees me back here,” he said. “You schmucks didn’t see me, and if she asks you, I’ve been up behind the prize counter this whole time.”

“Well, you’ll sure fool her with that line of shit,” Wade nodded. “Way to go.” 

Peter ignored him, instead choosing to look Bucky right in the face and give him a smile, “Been a while since I seen you, man. How’s it going?” 

Bucky, unsure of how to respond, shrugged. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Peter said, despite the fact that Bucky was 99% certain that Peter had no idea what Bucky meant at all. 

“We’re here to get his groove back,” Clint told them. “This guy can dance.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter recalled. “You’re good, man.” 

“You can whip, you can nae nae,” Wade said, “Probably do the locomotion, not that it’s hard… or, difficult, as the case may be.” 

Bucky brought his flesh hand up to the back of his neck and grabbed a handful of skin. He wasn’t an actual dancer, he just dicked around to music sometimes. How did anyone think of that as dancing?

“Maybe do the hustle?” Peter offered, “Or the running man?” 

This, of course, was the dance move Peter chose to display. 

“Sprinkler, maybe?” Clint joined in. 

“Or, my personal favorite,” and then Wade shouted,  _ “OPPA GANGNAM STYLE!”  _

Which devolved into Wade, Clint and Peter both dancing like it was 2012, totally in sync and not-at-all embarrassing. Nope. 

“I don’t know these people,” Bucky said to the group of twelve-year-olds who passed them right at that moment.

“Bitch, you love us,” Wade said. “Now get up on that machine and let’s see what you can do.” 

“Nothing,” Bucky tried to tell them. “I can’t do anything. I’m--”

“--a huge pussy?” Peter asked. 

“Nah, something lame that no one likes,” Wade tapped his chin. “Maybe a tiny, flaccid penis. No real shape or aesthetic to it, just a little floppy dong.” 

Peter snorted into his hand, while Bucky narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m not a floppy dong, you shitheel,” he said and stuck out his hand in front of Clint. “Gimme some quarters. This fucker’s going down.” 

“Woo!” Wade clapped his hands. “And the queers shall inherit the earth, my friends.” 

Inheriting the earth may have been a bit of a stretch, but they definitely dominated the arcade that night. Wade and Peter went toe to toe with Bucky and Clint, and after a while it wasn’t even about the score. It became about laughing and giving one another shit, almost in the way Bucky remembered doing with the team before everything went down. 

With Clint and Wade and Peter, though, it didn’t feel like a chore. Hanging out with the team was always something to do, and Bucky did it, but he couldn’t say he liked it. There was a certain something he’d had to maintain, a piece of him he’d had to squander away and keep all to himself. When he’d revealed that piece of himself, shit went sideways fast. 

These guys knew about him, though. And even if they didn’t (who knew what Peter knew?), there wasn’t any part of Bucky that thought they would care if they did. 

The sun sank in the sky, the orange light casting purple shadows on the sidewalk outside. Not that Bucky could see anything past the flashing lights and series of arrows on top of arrows, mind you. The dance-off only stopped when Mora, a tall black girl with a more-or-less permanent scowl and a nametag that read  _ Manager _ came and dragged Peter back to work. 

“Fuck,” Wade muttered at the loss of his dance partner. “Looks like that’s my cue.” 

“Aw, really?” Clint asked, disappointment clear in his voice. 

Wade raised his eyebrows. Even scarred beyond belief, he managed to have quite an expressive face. 

“Unless you’re looking for another kind of dance,” he told Clint. “Horizontal in nature, also known as the No Pants Dance.”

“Wow,” Bucky marvelled, “Well, as hard as it’ll be to resist that, he’s my ride, so--”

“So you’ll have to wait,” Clint finished for him. 

“Super,” Wade grinned. “I’ll be in the bathroom. Knock to the rhythm of Funky Town and we can get down to business.” 

“Wh--Dude!” Bucky exclaimed as Wade walked away. He turned to bitch at Clint, only to find himself pinned between Clint and the DDR machine. 

“Do not take this away from me,” he said. “I am a young, unidentified non-heterosexual who has had nothing but his right hand and his laptop screen to keep him warm. I  _ need _ this.” 

“His blowjobs are pretty fantastic,” Bucky considered. 

“You shithead!” Clint socked him on the arm--the wrong arm, which resulted in a loud  _ thunk! _ and Clint hissing as he cradled his hand against his chest. “Wow, I’m really mad that I forgot about that.”

“Well, if you’re gonna punch me for getting head from Wade Wilson like a hundred years ago,” said Bucky, “I can’t say I feel sorry for you.” 

“It’s not that you got head,” said Clint, “Though fuck you for that anyway. It’s that you’d deny  _ me _ .” 

“I’m not denying shit!” Bucky exclaimed. “Go forth, get head! I’ll call Steve to come get me.”

Clint’s whole face lit up. 

“You,” he said, then took Bucky’s cheeks in his hands, “You are a fucking gem.” 

He smacked a kiss right on Bucky’s lips, patted his cheeks with both hands, and whipped around to make his mad dash to the bathroom. 

Bucky stood there, too stunned to move for a good few seconds, before he took out his phone and sent out the distress call to Steve. 

_ ‘Went to arcade with clint and somehow got abandoned so he could get lucky in the bathroom? SOS.’  _

_ ‘Can also say that i now know beyond shadow of a doubt that clint barton kisses with all the grace of a goldendoodle’ _

It was the second text that garnered a,  _ ‘Wait, what??’ _ from Steve. 

_ ‘Please it wasn’t a real kiss. I told him to go get frisky with wade wilson and he kissed me. I think it was a thank you? I’m not sure.’  _

A moment passed before Steve replied,  _ ‘That weasley little twink’.  _

_ ‘Right? So rude.’  _

_ ‘Okay, I’ll be on my way in a few. Just gotta finish up here.’  _

_ ‘Where’s “here”?’  _

_ ‘Oh, I didn’t tell you? I’m having coffee with your mom.’  _

_ ‘SHUT UP YOU ARE NOT THATS NOT EVEN A LITTLE FUNNY YOU LITTLE SHIT’  _

_ ‘Bucky’  _

_ ‘Bucky’ _

_ ‘BUCKY’ _

_ ‘It’s a little funny.’  _

Bucky couldn’t use the metal hand for his phone screen, so he’d just have to use that one to flip Steve off in the picture he was totally ready to send.

… Only something happened and when Bucky flipped up the middle digit of his prosthetic, the rest of the digits started to twitch uncontrollably. Fuck-fuck- _ fuck _ . This was it, this was when it happened: Bucky had done it so much that his middle digit was actually going to get stuck like that. 

He shook the glitch out, thankfully, but shit, that was another thing he’d have to deal with, wasn’t it? Mom already spent a small freaking fortune getting this thing installed, now she was gonna have to pay for repairs too? 

God, what if he had to get a new one? 

And just like that, an entire afternoon of Clint Barton’s work had come undone.

 

* * *

 

Steve had been dodging Pepper Potts’ near desperate pleas that he join student council since probably the second week of school. Yeah, Steve had school spirit and all that rah-rah, but student council had always felt a little shallow to him. Back in California, kids were on student council for college credit, to boost their extracurriculars and make friends and plan school dances. 

This was not how Pepper Potts ran her student council. Pepper donated seemingly every last moment of her time and energy to her projects, was all about the quality of work rather than quantity. Canned food drives, recycling drives, e-cycling, up-cycling, Toys for Tots, Pennies for Patients--any service she could provide, she did. 

Steve could dig that. 

“I’m so glad you decided to come, Steve,” Pepper had greeted him as soon as he’d entered the room. Their after school meeting started ‘promptly at 3:30’, which worked out much better for Steve than their before school meetings, which began at 7:00 every morning. 

There was something about being awake that early that Steve would just not abide. 

“What made you change your mind?” Pepper asked.

Well, there was no use lying about it. 

“I admire your work,” he said. 

“Oh?” Pepper’s face lit up. “Well, thanks. I put a lot of thought into the projects we do.” 

“Oh,” Steve felt his face go vermillion, “I actually meant the whole punching Tony Stark in the face thing.” 

“Oh,” Pepper said, her expression dimming significantly. 

“I did want to talk to you about doing a Relay For Life team, though,” Steve told her, which wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t his intended focus for this particular meeting. 

“That I am interested in,” Pepper gave him a nod. “And thank you, about the Stark thing. I honestly cannot believe we ever dated.” 

Steve’s entire brain screeched to a halt. 

“What’s that now?” 

She blinked, expression undecipherable. 

“Did you really not know that?” 

Steve shook his head.

“Huh,” she narrowed her eyes, “I’ve seen you hanging out with him. I just assume he tells everyone.” 

“Nope,” Steve shook his head again. “He does not carry himself with the confidence of a man who’s gotten to share in your company  _ without  _ being punched in the face.” 

“Yeah,” Pepper bared her teeth, the ‘yikes’ palpable in her eyes. 

Steve then heard the ancient clock on the wall click, indicating another minute had passed. In some Pavlovian response, Pepper looked up, then strode back to the front of the room. 

“All right, everyone,” she announced, “It’s 3:30, so let’s get started.” 

Steve looked around and chose a seat close to the middle of the room. He didn’t want Pepper thinking he was ready to sneak out the back unnoticed, but he also didn’t need to be front and center either. 

The old business didn’t take much time to revisit, and after a few pieces of new business, Pepper introduced Steve. 

Crap. 

“Stand up,” she said, and Steve obeyed, not interested in learning what sorts of consequences there were for testing the patience of Pepper Potts. “Why don’t you tell us why you’re interested in joining student council?” 

“Oh,” Steve shifted in his sneakers, “Well, I’ve never been in student council before. I’ve never really been all that interested, but after I saw how Pepper handles things, I reconsidered. I like doing good stuff for people and Pepper apparently does too, so. Yeah.” 

He took a seat, slightly flustered by everyone turning to look at him all at once. Student council was by and large useless in most high schools, but it was less so here and Steve respected that. 

After the business of the meeting concluded, Pepper assigned Steve to painting the banners for their Thanksgiving canned food drive. 

“They don’t need to be fancy,” she said, handing him a sheet of paper. “Just make sure all the information is on there and try to make it eye-catching.” 

“Can do,” Steve saluted. 

“Great,” Pepper smiled. “Butcher paper and paints are in the cabinet over there.”

Steve took his time to sketch out a concept first. Maybe he could make it look Warhol-esque, with rows upon rows of Campbell’s soup cans--or, maybe not that exactly. Something, though. 

Maybe he should just get the information down first, like Pepper said, then spruce it up. 

He rolled out the butcher paper in the hallway and squeezed some paint onto an old cafeteria tray. Everything faded as Steve worked. Even if this wasn’t a particularly creative assignment, it was still painting. It still engaged the same muscles, the same part of his brain. Even if they were only shitty tempera paints and 99 cent brushes, they were artistic enough to put Steve at peace in the way that only art could. 

“Wow, lookin’ good, Steve.” 

Steve looked up from the banner and up at Pepper, who stood over him with her arms folded and a smile of smug satisfaction on her face. 

“What’s that for?” Steve asked, smiling despite not being in on whatever joke she shared with herself at that moment. 

“I’m just impressed,” she said. 

Steve narrowed his eyes, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“I am!” Pepper laughed. “You’re just--normally I tell people to make banners and it’s half-assed magic marker crap, but this is art.” 

“Uh,” Steve glanced down at the banner. Sure, he’d added in some cartoon cans, and the letters ended up being a little fancier than Steve had intended, but art?

“Thanks?” 

“You don’t look like you believe me,” Pepper stepped over the banner and sat down beside him. “You should join art club. They’re always looking for people.” 

Steve let out a laugh, “I hate to break it to you, but not everyone shares your level of enthusiasm for extracurriculars.” 

Pepper laughed too, but before Steve could respond his phone began to buzz wildly in his pocket. He gave Pepper a quick apology before checking the screen. 

**Bucky** :  _ Went to arcade with clint and somehow got abandoned so he could get lucky in the bathroom? SOS. _

**Bucky** :  _ Can also say that i now know beyond shadow of a doubt that clint barton kisses with all the grace of a goldendoodle _

Steve frowned. 

**Steve:** _ Wait, what? _

“Everything okay?” Pepper asked. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Steve cleared his throat. “Just--”

His phone buzzed again.

**Bucky:** _ Please it wasn’t a real kiss. I told him to go get frisky with wade wilson and he kissed me. I think it was a thank you? I’m not sure. _

The relief must have been palpable. 

“Steve?” 

“Yeah,” he pulled his attention away from his phone. “Sorry, my uh… just a text from my friend.” 

“Oh,” Pepper gave a knowing nod. “Please, take your time.”

“Thanks,” Steve smiled at her. 

Now, back to business. 

**Steve:** _ That weasley little twink _

**Bucky:** _ Right? So rude. _

Steve’s smile broadened. What a dweeb. 

His dweeb, who’d been through hell and back and still had it in himself to goof around. 

**Steve:** _ Okay, I’ll be on my way in a few. Just gotta finish up here. _

“Sorry to cut this short,” Steve said to Pepper. “I gotta go bail out an American hero.” 

“Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “I think my friend just bit off a little more than he could chew and didn’t think to plan an exit strategy.” 

“Ah,” Pepper nodded as Bucky came through again.

**Bucky:** _ Where’s “here”? _

**Steve:** _ Oh, I didn’t tell you? I’m having coffee with your mom. _

**Bucky:** _ SHUT UP YOU ARE NOT THATS NOT EVEN A LITTLE FUNNY YOU LITTLE SHIT _

**Steve:** _ Bucky _

**Steve:** _ Bucky _

**Steve:** _ BUCKY _

**Steve:** _ It’s a little funny. _

“Sounds like you’d better get going,” Pepper said. “Thanks for coming today, though. I really hope you work with us more this year.” 

“Y’know, I think I’m gonna,” Steve told her and stood. He offered a hand to Pepper and pulled her to her feet with ease. “I’m serious about that Relay for Life thing.” 

“Good!” Pepper smiled. “You can always text me too, if you ever have ideas or stuff you want to bring up at the next meeting.”

“Cool,” Steve nodded back. He helped her move the banner to safety and cleaned up the paints. By the time he was back in his car, Bucky still hadn’t texted him back. 

Well, that didn’t sit well with him in the slightest. 

The arcade in question wasn’t too far from school, but it was the end of the work day and there was a little more traffic than Steve would have liked to slog through at this moment. Even if he weaved in and out of the cars, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. 

So, by the time he got to the arcade and jogged inside, Bucky had been waiting for him for upwards of an hour.

Sitting on the DDR machine, looking as dejected as ever. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Steve told him as soon as he was close enough to him. “Traffic was kinda hellish. Are you--wait, what’s wrong?” 

Bucky looked up from staring into his kneecaps, his eyes sunken and face devoid of emotion.

“Buck,” Steve felt his shoulder sag. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Bucky said. 

“I’m not!” Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “God, you tell me that when I’m not even making faces.” 

“You are, but,” Bucky swallowed and held up his prosthetic, “It’s malfunctioning.” 

Steve’s head cocked to the side, “Really?” 

Bucky nodded. 

“Shit,” Steve sat beside him. His mind began to spin with possible short-term and long-term fix-its, spiralling for a good few moments before he said, “My dad might know of some guys who’ve had the same problem.” 

“Yeah, and they probably had the money to fix it,” Bucky spat back, then wilted just as quickly. “Sorry, it’s not your fault.” 

“Hey,” Steve scooted a fraction of an inch closer, “It’s stressful. It’s shit you shouldn’t have to be worried about.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky let out a mirthless laugh, “That’d be fuckin’ nice, wouldn’t it.” 

He put his face back against his knees and took a breath. 

“I can’t believe Clint’s been in the fucking bathroom this long,” he made a rapid shift in the subject. “I mean, Wade’s got a way about him; there’s no way Clint lasted more than five minutes, if that.” 

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, “Are you… speaking from experience?” 

Bucky nodded into his knees. 

“First blowjob I ever gave,” he said, “Only because he gave me one first. I’m not rude.” 

“Of course not,” Steve agreed, unsure of where to go from there. He didn’t want to touch Bucky if Bucky didn’t want to be touched, because that wouldn’t do either of them any good, and apparently Bucky was not in the mood to hear what Steve had to say regarding this mini meltdown. 

So, Steve decided to go along with what Bucky felt compelled to discuss. 

“Was he any good?” he asked. 

Bucky let out a laugh and looked up again, “I was about to say ‘of course he was’, but then I realized you don’t know Wade, like, at all.” 

“Jeez,” Steve chuckled, “Should I be jealous?” 

“Mm,” Bucky squinted and (finally) looked at Steve, “That’s not really your style, Rogers.” 

“That’s true,” Steve’s laugh came out more like a sigh of relief. 

“First blowjob I gave,” Bucky said, “And last. Haven’t given one since.” 

Steve couldn’t help the way his smile devolved into a dirty grin. 

“Maybe you could stand some practice then, huh?” 

Bucky’s stare went dark. 

Holy fuck, now  _ those _ were some bedroom eyes. Steve hadn’t seen that look on him before, but he didn’t mind it one bit. Every last neuron firing in his brain told him to throw Bucky over his shoulder and boot Wade and Clint from the bathroom (if indeed that’s where they still were), but no. No, he had to be responsible  _ emotionally _ . The answer was obvious, but--

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“Hey, fuck off,” Steve shoved him on the arm. “I want to make sure you’re okay. I’m your fucking boyfriend, all right? It comes with the territory.” 

“And so do blowjobs,” Bucky told him. 

“You can suck my dick later--” at which point the little horny voice in Steve’s brain called him every name in the book “--but right now I want you to be okay. That’s more important than anything.” 

“Well, I’m not okay, Steve,” Bucky snipped at him. “I can be not-okay and still fully consent to sucking dick.” 

“Bucky,” Steve let out another sigh, “You’re just--I worry about you, okay? Because you’re my boyfriend, yeah, but also I’d worry about you anyway because we were friends before anything else, and I loved you way before we were boyfriends.” 

And then Bucky just stared at him for almost a whole minute before he asked, voice much smaller than before, “You did?” 

“Of course I did,” Steve said. “And I still do. You’re my favorite person on the planet, okay? I mean, I know I like a lot of people, but you’re the best. You’re important.” 

Bucky’s face went unreadable again. The only way Steve could even tell he reacted to this affirmation at all was the fact that Bucky scooted so close to him that there wasn’t a gap between them anymore. 

He kissed Steve on the cheek and grabbed Steve’s left  hand in his right. He threaded their fingers together and nuzzled into his neck. 

“Thanks,” Bucky said. “You’re my favorite too.” 

They sat there for a few minutes while Bucky evened out. It wasn’t a good idea to put him on the back of a motorcycle if he was upset, after all. In this time, Steve tried to rein in his own thoughts, put everything in order where it belonged. Sex--yes, sex sounded good. Amazing, even. But Steve had never been through what Bucky had, and that…

He squeezed Bucky’s fingers between his. Before he could say anything, though, Bucky pulled away and asked, “Ready to go?” 

Steve nodded, let go of his hand, and they left the arcade. 

Before Bucky put on his helmet, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and barked a laugh. 

“What?” Steve asked. 

Bucky turned the phone to show him. 

**Clint:** _ There are no fluids left in my body. They are gone. Wade Wilson took them. Call me California because I am all dried up. _

“Oh, boy,” Steve laughed. 

“Right?” Bucky laughed alongside him, “Hang on, hang on.” 

Steve watched over his shoulder, 

**Bucky:** _ I might’ve said ‘Call me your mom…’ but okay _ .

Steve hid his smile in Bucky’s hoodie. 

“I’m gonna tell your mom you said that,” he said. 

“Shut up,” Bucky gave a playful shove in return and stuck the helmet on his head. 

There was something in the way Bucky held onto Steve this time around. He no longer held onto Steve for dear life, but more secured his arms around his waist. He didn’t fight the way Steve leaned into turns before--more actively rescinded control of the situation if anything--but now there seemed to be a looser feeling. 

‘Going with the flow’ summed it up pretty nicely. 

And, as per usual, their proximity and the roar of the engine against their groins left them both pretty hard up by the time they got to Bucky’s. 

“So, uh,” Bucky said, because they’d been parked outside on the bike for a whole minute, helmets off and everything, without either moving to stand, “My mom’s pulling a double shift and Becca is at her dance class. And I’m pretty sure you’ve owed me a blowjob since Saturday.”

Steve swallowed. 

Oh boy.

_ Here we go. _

“You know, um,” he gnawed at his bottom lip, thinking, “If you’re--you’re uncomfortable or anything. I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated or anything.”

“Obligated,” Bucky repeated. “You don’t want  _ me  _ to feel obligated to get  _ my  _ dick sucked _ by you _ .” 

Steve blinked. 

“Well, when you put it like that,” he considered, then turned to look back at him. Ah, shit, “Man, this is insanely uncomfortable. We gotta stand.” 

“Roger, Rogers,” Bucky patted him on the back and stood. Steve let him lead all the way back up to the building and into the Barnes’ living room. They both dropped their things and shucked their top layers.

Bucky snorted.

“What?” Steve asked. 

“You’re wearing a hoodie under your jacket?” he asked.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Gimme a break. I turned into a California wimp, all right? Gotta readjust.” 

“It’s forty-three degrees out,” Bucky’s eyebrow went up. “Honestly, I’m ready to go on a fuckin’ picnic in the park just like this.”

Bucky wasn’t wearing the layers Steve was. Under his hoodie he only had a gray t-shirt that read  _ ‘Today Has Been Cancelled. Try Another Day.’ _ That, jeans and his shoes. That was it. 

“God, I can’t wait to acclimate,” Steve folded his arms over his chest. 

“Mm,” Bucky feigned sympathy with a nod. “Know what might warm you up?” 

He took a step toward Steve, then another, and put both hands on Steve’s chest. 

How? How was this fair?

“I bet you’re gonna tell me,” Steve managed to say. 

_ Be cool.  _

Bucky wound his fingers in Steve’s hoodie and pulled him right into a--non-kiss. God, their lips were so close and he was right freaking  _ there _ …

“My full and complete consent for you to suck my dick,” Bucky grinned. 

Steve’s nerves manifested in a laugh. 

Everything was fine. 

This was fine. 

“I know you’re making fun of me,” he said, “But consent is sexy as hell.” 

Bucky snorted and, that was it. They were kissing now and Bucky said it was okay, so this was the moment. 

Steve’s first blowjob. 

… first time giving one, anyway. 

He led Bucky to the couch and sat him right down. It was possibly the least sexy execution he could have pulled off, but he was too high strung for anything else. Bucky trusted him with this and he didn’t want to fuck it up. He just--he wanted Bucky to feel good, y’know? 

He kneeled down in front of Bucky and pushed his knees apart so he could settle in the gap.  

Apparently impatient, Bucky had already undone the fly of his jeans. When the hell had he done that? Not that it mattered even a little bit, seeing how Steve probably would’ve fucked it up with how badly his hands were shaking. He had thought about this exact (okay, maybe not  _ exact _ ) situation literally since he’d hit puberty and realized that, hey, putting another boy’s penis in his mouth might not be too bad. 

He reached up and peeled the denim back. There was a lump that was definitely cock right there in front of him and, shit, he was not backing down now. This was happening. 

“Hey.” 

Bucky’s hand landed softly in his hair, catching Steve’s attention. He looked up to meet Bucky’s eye and blinked, “What?” 

“Are  _ you  _ okay?” Bucky asked.

Steve’s throat clicked dryly around a swallow and he nodded. 

“Kinda having a moment,” he replied. “It’s a little surreal, just--” 

He licked his lips and reached into Bucky’s pants, past the elastic and cotton of his boxers, to wrap his hand around-- _ god _ \--Bucky’s erection. 

Bucky lifted his hips so Steve could shimmy down his jeans and underwear, and then all of a sudden Bucky’s dick sprang up like a freaking ghoul in a haunted house, standing right up for both of them to see. 

Steve took it in his hand again. It was beautiful, just like the rest of Bucky, flushed deep red with anticipation and shiny with precome right at the tip. Steve moved his hand, wanting to memorize this moment down to the last millisecond. He ran his fingers over the soft, hot skin and trailed down to his balls. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” Bucky whined.

“Nah,” Steve shook his head, chest swelling the second he felt the tremors running down Bucky’s thighs. “Just… do me a favor and don’t tell me if I’m worse than Wade Wilson.” 

Bucky flipped him off. Steve just laughed, and then he gambled: he pressed a kiss just to the base of Bucky’s cock, right up against his sac, and damn if it wasn’t nice the way Bucky sighed into it. 

_ Okay, it’s time.  _

Bucky yelped when Steve’s lips closed over him, let out this sinful groan when Steve slid down further. His hand made up for a lot of what he couldn’t fit in his mouth, but honestly he was so lost to the world that he couldn’t tell you what the hell was in his head. Every thought went fuzzy and only one compulsion remained: keep going. There wasn’t time here, just the sharp taste of Bucky on his tongue and the fingers running through his hair. He couldn’t even hear what Bucky was saying, only that he was saying something. 

He kept his ear open for something like ‘no’ or ‘stop’, but that never came. 

Bucky did, though. 

However long it took, it ended with Bucky’s voice cracking over the crest of a groan and his fingers tightening in Steve’s hair. Oh, and a seemingly endless amount of come leaking out of his lips, let’s not forget that. 

But it worked. Bucky’s limbs had gone loose and his face went smiley. Even his breathing sounded easier. It wasn’t until they finally locked eyes that Steve grinned. 

“Good?” he asked. 

“You know the answer to that, fucker,” Bucky let out a laugh and leaned forward to kiss Steve on the forehead. “Hell yeah, it was good.” 

And then he slid off the couch and climbed on top of Steve, and they were kissing again. Could Bucky taste himself on Steve’s tongue? Was that why he let out that little noise and turned their kiss downright sloppy and wet and come-flavored and disgusting-yet-somehow-absolutely-perfect? 

Well, this was not going to last even a little bit. 

Bucky approached the next part with far more grace than Steve had. He slid down Steve’s body and unbuttoned his fly with all the deftness of a classically trained pianist. He too appeared to be nervous, but somehow nerves didn’t manifest in Bucky the same way they did in Steve. Bucky’s nerves made him posture, made him fake confidence where he had none, and that was completely evident in the underwear-incinerating wink he gave Steve before he grabbed his cock and started to stroke. 

Bucky barely got his mouth over him before it was all over. Steve tried to say something, honest, but his entire body spazzed and he wound up coming right on Bucky’s chin. 

“Oh shit,” he panted, trying to sit up but failing miserably, “Shit, I’m so sorry, Buck.” 

Bucky didn’t yell or blush or anything like that. 

Nope, Steve nailed him in the face with his come and Bucky just started to laugh. 

“You like sucking dick then, I take it?” Bucky asked. 

Steve barked a laugh and covered his face with his hands. 

“Seems like,” he said. 

“Good,” Bucky pushed a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other. “Because we’re doing it again before anyone else gets back.” 

Steve grinned up at the ceiling, “Works for me.”

They cleaned up themselves and tidied the living room before they headed down to Bucky’s room. His bed was clear, so Bucky pulled Steve down onto it with him. They wrestled, because some dumb part of their brains told them to, but it ended as soon as Steve pulled Bucky down into a kiss. 

Simple, sweet. 

And when Bucky shifted so Steve could cuddle him, it couldn’t have felt more natural. He didn’t miss the way Bucky’s grip on him tightened, so Steve did the only thing he could think of that might help. He petted a hand over Bucky’s soft brown hair and told him, “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Bucky squeezed him. 

“I know,” he sniffed, voice thick but eyes dry, and added, “ _ punk." _


	8. Chapter 8

_ BAHS RAMS VS FRANKLIN DOUBLE HELIXES  _

_~~FRIDAY~~ _ _ TONIGHT @ 6 PM  _

_ COME SUPPORT OUR FOOTBALL TEAM! _

“The ‘Double Helixes’,” Clint read over again. “That’s their mascot?” 

“Isn’t Franklin High that freaky science genius private school?” Natasha asked, cocking her head to one side. 

“Obviously not, because I’m not there,” Tony chimed in.  

“Because you melted their circuit breaker the first week you were there,” Bruce reminded him. “Your dad had to pay for them to re-wire their entire campus _ and _ buy a whole bunch of new shit for this place before they’d even think about taking you.”

To which Tony replied, “I’m not interested in your so-called ‘facts’, Banner.” 

“Yeah, ‘so-called’ because they’re true statements.” 

Tony flipped him off. 

“We’re going.” 

Tony balked. 

“Ah, shut your dick holster,” Clint waved him off. 

Bruce snorted. 

“First of all, fuck you, Banner--”

“Meh.”

“--And second of all, fuck you too, Barton. And  _ third _ , and finally, why the fuck do I have to go to a football game?” 

“Because Thor plays football,” Steve explained, “And Thor is our friend, and friends support each other.” 

“Oh,” Tony threw his hands up, “Okay fine, we support the chiseled pizza slice when he’s doing his thing, but as soon as I ask you guys to do my thing you all tell me to go fuck myself.”

“Because dropping acid and going to the planetarium with you isn’t the same thing,” Steve told him. 

“But it was fun,” Clint pointed out. “I thought so, at least.” 

“Now, if you were going to be in a science fair or something…” 

“Yeah, a science fair,” Tony rolled his eyes, “Because I’m in the fourth grade.” 

“Fine!” Steve snapped, “Then, if you had an…. I don’t know.” He turned to Bruce for assistance.

“Mm,” Bruce tapped his chin. “Robot Fighting League Championship?” 

“Exactly,” Steve gestured. “We support each other’s accomplishments, not their questionable uses of their free time.” 

“Again, it was pretty fun,” said Clint. “But also Steve’s right. Thor’s our friend and friends do stuff like go to friends’ football games.” 

“I swear to god, this is why I never befriend athletes,” Tony sighed. 

“Yeah, that’s the  _ only _ reason,” Bruce quipped. 

Tony socked him right on the arm. 

“What about you, Buck?” 

Bucky drew his eyes away from the banner and looked out at the collection of faces that, over the last couple months, he’d come to call his friends. Liking his friends was still a little surreal to him, if he was being honest, but he’d been told it was a common theme in friendships. Yeah, Tony was a total shithead and Bruce was misanthropic; and sure, Natasha was cold and Clint was an olympic level archer who still ate Dunkaroos. They were all weird and not exactly the kind of people Bucky would have gone out of his way to hang out with before, but he was glad he wound up with them. 

He’d take this drop dead strange group of people over his old friends any day. 

“Hey,” Steve nudged him softly. 

“Oh,” Bucky landed back in the hallway. Did he want to go to a game? Of course he did. He liked sports, even the ones he didn’t play, and he wanted to be a Supportive Friend  TM  , but the logistics of it made his heart start to hammer in his chest. A football game meant a metric fuckton of people in one space. It meant loud noises and uncomfortable seats. It meant people screaming in the stands and, with his luck, taking a football to the face Marcia Brady style. 

“That’s…” Bucky let out a breath. “That’s a lot.” 

“A football game?” Tony asked. 

Bucky felt Steve bristle beside him. 

“Social anxiety is great,” Bucky replied, trying to keep the situation from getting too tense in too short a time.

“You don’t take anything for that, huh?” Bruce asked. “Not judging, just wondering.” 

Bucky shrugged, “It’s not, like, an  _ issue _ -issue.” 

Bruce narrowed his eyes, “What does that even mean?” 

“It just--” Bucky looked up at the ceiling, attempting to gather his thoughts. “It only ever happens when I’m in huge groups of people, or if something’s way too loud. Or if I’m around a bunch of people I don’t know for a long period of time.”

“So, all the time,” Bruce deadpanned. 

Bucky faltered, then muttered a half-hearted, “Shut up.”

“I got you covered,” Tony said then. “God knows I can’t go to a game without being stoned out of my skull. We can smoke beforehand.”

“Really?” Bucky perked up. “That’d be great.” 

The morning bell rang and Steve reminded them all as they made to disperse, “We’re all going.” 

“Aye-aye,” Natasha saluted. 

“I’ll drive,” Clint volunteered. “Might be easier if we all go in one car. Only it’s not a car because my mom’s van isn’t a car. It’s a van.” 

“You don’t say…” Tony smacked a hand to the side of his face, feigning shock. 

Clint grabbed his crotch with one hand and told him, “Suck my dick, Stark.”

“He gets a blowjob like two weeks ago and still he’s stuck on it,” Nat shook her head. “Damn dirty shame.”

“Well, maybe if I had a  _ good  _ best friend like Bruce does--”

“Ah, don’t… don’t bring me into this.”

“--then maybe I wouldn’t have to wait for blowjobs like Haley’s freaking Comet.” 

Without missing a beat, Nat shrugged and shot back, “Start eating my pussy and you’ve got a deal.” 

“Wait, really?” Clint perked up and Nat rolled her eyes, pulling Clint along with her toward their respective homerooms. 

“Hear that?” Tony asked Bruce, “I’m a  _ good _ best friend.” 

“You’re actually the worst,” Bruce said. 

Steve and Bucky ambled toward the staircase after that, silence wedged between them. 

“You sure you’ll be all right?” Steve asked after another few seconds. “You don’t have to go.”

“I’m going, Steve,” Bucky told him, and that was that. 

**oo**

As promised, Clint acted as the shuttle service later that afternoon. Steve had given Bucky a ride home after school, and Bucky repaid him with a handjob. 

_ “You don’t have to repay me, though.” _

_ “So you don’t want my hand on your dick?”  _

_ “... okay, I see your point.”  _

And when they slid into the middle of the van, they discovered Clint and Natasha had spent their couple hours of downtime in a more-or-less similar fashion. 

“What the hell are you so goofy about?” Bucky asked as he pulled the ancient seat belt over his chest. 

“Nat let me eat her out.” 

The sheer idiocy of Clint’s grin was actually kind of endearing. 

Steve let out a “Huh,” and Bucky asked, “You make her come?” 

“FYI, I  _ am  _ in the car,” Nat said and turned around to look at them, “And yeah, he did.” 

“I’m persistent!” Clint looked at Bucky in the rearview mirror and grinned even more broadly. 

“Good job, buddy,” Bucky gave him a thumbs up. “Nat, care to weigh in?” 

“Tongue work was a little sloppy, but you can’t ask too much of a rookie,” Nat kicked her feet up on the dash as they pulled away from the curb. “Good fingering, though. Definitely knows what a clitoris is and where to find it.”

“To be fair, yours isn’t hard to find--Ow!” 

“Keep the size and prominence of my clitoris to yourself, please.” 

“Nat, c’mon,” Bucky sat forward. “Your clit is huge.” 

Bucky could hear the record scratch in Steve’s brain as he demanded, “Wait, what?”

“You’re running your mouth but all I hear is a whole lot of clit envy, Barnes,” Nat continued, and Bucky smiled. 

“Hm, maybe you could find a better way to occupy my mouth,” Bucky (shamelessly) flirted back at her. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Steve asked. 

Bored, Natasha pulled her phone out of her pocket and swiped through before she cared to explain, “Your boyfriend and I have had sex before, Steve. Sloppy, sad ‘shush-or-they’ll-hear-us’ closet sex.” 

Bucky snorted and thudded his forehead against the back of Nat’s headrest. 

“Well,” Clint was the one to break the following silence, “That’s something I didn’t know.”

“Not anyone’s business, really,” Nat shrugged. “Though it’s pretty bold bringing it up in front of your boyfriend, I won’t lie.” 

“I’m your best friend!” Clint exclaimed, “How did I not know about this like, two seconds after it happened?” 

Nat shrugged again, “I’ve had sex with a lot of people. I’m a slut, what do you want from me?”

“You’re not a slut just because you sleep with a lot of people,” Steve piped up. 

“Steve, that’s exactly what it means,” Nat looked over her shoulder, right at him, “I never implied that I thought I was a lesser human being because of it.” 

“Wow, Steve,” Clint shook his head. “You come into  _ my  _ van? You slut-shame  _ my  _ bestie with bennies? We’re besties with bennies now, by the way.”

“All I’ve ever wanted,” Natasha let out a comically un-wistful sigh. 

“I’m not slut shaming!” Steve attempted to back peddle. “I just--it’s just how everyone talks about it and I wanted to make sure you didn’t think that too.” 

“That I didn’t base my self-worth on how many dicks I’ve handled?” Nat asked. 

A stretch of silence followed, accompanied soon by Steve pouting and and muttering, “Assholes,” before he threw himself back against the seat. 

“Z’TH’ RUSSIANS!” 

“Holy shit!” Bucky shouted as each and every one of them jumped out of their skin. 

“TH’FUCK IS THIS?”

Clint checked the rearview and scowled.

“Barney, why are you in the van!?” 

Sure enough, everyone turned to find Barney Barton sitting in the way back of the van, scruffy and groggy and looking like he’d definitely seen better days.

“B’cz ‘t’s my night to use it, cockwit. I was sleeping in here so you wouldn’t take it.” 

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go ahead and rebut point by point,” Clint held up a thumb, “One, your license is suspended because you can’t just not drive after you’ve been drinking, so it may be your night on the calendar but it’s kind of a moot point. Two, if you were trying to sleep in here so I wouldn’t take it, you should’ve slept, I don’t know, in the front? Anywhere I could’ve seen you?” 

“I can’t hear you over the amount of shits I don’t give,” Barney sat up and leaned forward. He poked his head between Steve and Bucky and asked, “Who’re you?” 

“The fucking FBI,” Bucky shot back before he had time to think it through. 

“That’s Bucky and Steve,” Clint explained. “Bucky, Steve, this walking pig anus is my brother Barney.” 

“S’up,” Barney nodded at the both of them, then looked up ahead of them, “What’s goin’ on, Natasha?” 

Natasha’s response? Reach into her boot and pull out a switchblade. 

_ Fuck _ , Bucky loved that woman. 

“Cool, cool,” Barney nodded. “Okay, quit fucking around. Pull over, dickhole.” 

“Why?” Clint asked. 

“Because you’re getting out,” Barney yawned, “C’mon, pissant, I got shit to do.”

“I’m not getting out of the car,” Clint said. “ _ You’re _ getting out of the car and calling mom.” 

“ _ Fine _ ,” Barney spat back. “Drop me at Mo’s.” 

In the mirror, Bucky could see Clint narrow his eyes. 

“I’m not coming to get you if his fucking garage blows up again,” he said, despite knowing that it wasn’t true. Clint wasn’t a tough guy to get to know. He wore his heart on his sleeve, if only because there wasn’t enough room for it in his chest. Clint’s love and loyalty never expired, it seemed, and that’s why, with only half an hour until the football game was supposed to start, he turned right around and headed toward wherever Barney asked him to go. 

This was also why, when they pulled up to Tony’s house fifteen minutes late, Tony and Bruce looked so damn irritated. 

“Sorry,” Clint apologized as Tony wrenched the door open beside Bucky. “We had some pretty intense unforeseen douchebaggery for a while there, had to take a detour.”

“That’s fine,” said Tony. “I’ll just freeze my balls off. No big deal.” 

“Saves me the effort of sterilizing you before you can procreate,” Bruce pointed out, then stopped to look at Bucky before he followed Tony into the way back to tell him, “It’s okay, I’ve got a plan. I’m not letting it happen.” 

“Good to know,” Bucky cuffed him on the shoulder and slid the door shut behind him. Clint took off like a bat out of hell from there, leaving Tony reeling in the back. 

“Christ, blast off into hyperspace much?” 

“Not the time, Tony,” Clint called back to him. 

“Now children,” Nat chastised with absolutely zero inflection, “don’t make your father turn this car around.” 

“You dare mock me!” Clint slammed his hand onto the steering wheel. “After I gave you an orgasm, woman?” 

“Aw, guys,” Bruce groaned. 

“Yeah, you gotta calm down about that, man,” Bucky said. “If I can rub one outta her while we’re both cramped in a closet, you gotta realize she’s not that tough of a nut to crack.”

“Thanks, Bucky,” Nat replied, and it sounded like the most genuine statement of gratitude she’d ever made. 

“I jerked off two guys in one night once.” 

Everyone turned to look at Steve, who rapidly turned a deep shade of red. He added, “Just once, though.” 

He seemed to think that making an amendment would help.

“Well, truth or dare time, it looks like,” Tony clapped his hands together. “Bruce, truth or dare?” 

Bruce heaved out a sigh, “Neither.”

“Truth,” Tony nodded. “Odd choice, but I admire your courage in the face of potential ridicule. How many times have you whacked off today?” 

“I haven’t whacked off today, Tony,” Bruce groaned, like this wasn’t the first time he’d had to say this today. 

“Okay, but you can’t lie during Truth or Dare.” 

“Fine, Truth or Dare to you, Tony,” Bruce snapped. 

“Oooh, he’s getting  _ feisty _ ,” Tony perked up. “You know alpha Bruce gets me all riled up. Dare, baby, dare!” He cried as he smacked his seat. 

“I dare you to jump out of this moving car.”

“Wow,” Tony’s hand smacked against his own chest. “Ouch, Bruce. Very ouch.”

“Will you--you’re gonna clobber your pacemaker, stop it.” 

“Jesus, all right,  _ Dr. Banner.  _ Keep your wig on.” 

“It’s not a wig and you’re pissing me off,” Bruce snapped. “Stop it.”

Bucky’s phone buzzed in his pocket with a message from Steve. 

_ ‘If you need to go, we can.’  _

Bucky glanced over at him and messaged back,  _ ‘I’m having the time of my life, man. You can’t make this shit up.’  _

But, because Bucky wasn’t totally oblivious, he also added,  _ ‘Are you okay?’  _

Steve looked over and gave Bucky a smile. Rather than replying in a message, he grabbed Bucky’s hand and kissed his knuckles. 

“Hey, gaywads,” Tony flicked Steve right behind the ear. A freshly rolled joint dangled from his lips as he asked, “When’s the party starting?” 

“Don’t call us ‘gaywads’,” Steve frowned. “It’s pejorative, condescending, and, quite frankly? A little rude.” 

“And you’re not hotboxing my mom’s van!” Clint exclaimed. “This isn’t Woodstock! Wait until we get to school and do it in the fucking parking lot like everyone else!” 

“Wow, okay,” Tony said. “Don’t everyone jump down my throat at once, Christ.” 

Once they got to the school’s parking lot, Tony all but rolled out of the van and lit the joint between his lips. He passed it along to Bruce, who passed it along to Bucky, who passed it along to Clint, and, when Steve and Nat both declined the offer, passed it back to Tony. 

“Someone has to babysit you four,” Nat said. “I figure with two and two we should be fine.” 

“I call Bruce no takebacks!” Tony’s hand shot up in the air. 

A hazy smile crept over Bruce’s face and he looped an arm around Tony’s shoulders. 

“You’re a moron,” he said, “But also I’m starting to feel pretty good, so I’m just gonna…”

Bruce trailed off with everyone staring at him, but he didn’t seem to care. 

“Wow,” Bucky coughed and looked at the joint between his fingers. “What the fuck is this shit?” 

“It’s basically the only strain that’s ever put this sorry sack of shit in a good mood,” Tony explained through a dazed grin, because Bruce was hanging onto him like a koala on a eucalyptus tree.

“Apparently,” Steve folded his arms over his chest. 

“Right?” Tony asked and stroked his fingers through Bruce’s dark curls. “Look at him, he’s adorable.” 

Bucky could already feel the fog rolling in behind his eyes. He’d thought he’d been in a good mood on the way over here, but now? Man, if it was possible to ride good vibes to the moon, Bucky would’ve gone there and back twice by now. The crowd wasn’t an issue anymore, the loud noises and chaos didn’t even enter into his mind. Right now, he was up above it all. 

He reached over and hooked a finger in Steve’s belt loop, and giggled at how Steve stumbled when Bucky tugged him over. 

“Hey, handsome,” he beamed. 

“Wow,” Steve chuckled, “Good stuff, huh?” 

“Oh yeah,” Bucky smiled. 

“Your eyes are  _ red _ , pal,” Steve told him. 

“Steve,” Bucky put up a hand. “It’s really good shit.”

Bucky let himself be pulled from the parking lot and toward the football field after that. The game had barely started, but the stands were packed. Even with Natasha clearing a path and staring people down until they gave up their seats, the six of them could barely fit on their section of bench. Nat and Steve bookended them, the sober conductor and caboose of this crazy train. On Bucky’s one side, Steve easily could’ve spilt over and tumbled down the stairs; on the other, Bruce sat with his head on Tony’s shoulder and a zen sort of look on his face. Tony and Clint were in the middle of a thumb war, which didn’t seem to bother Bruce in the slightest.

This, however, meant Steve and Bucky were the only ones who heard Nat ask, “What’s Thor’s number again?” 

Steve searched his mind for a moment, realized, then hung his head. “Shit,” he said, “He’s said it like, five times and I can never make it stick.”

“I think it’s 49,” said Bruce. 

Sure enough, a look out at the field showed a large triangle of a human wearing the number 49 was indeed  _ ‘Odinson’ _ . 

“How’d you know that?” Bucky asked. 

“He told us, but all I remember is thinking, ‘oh, a perfect square’,” Bruce explained. “Eleven players on the field, there’s only two of those on our team on the field, and I figured we would’ve remembered 25, because it’s a pretty easy number to remember. Now, you could argue that there were…”

It was about there that Bruce’s voice faded out and was replaced by the muted trumpet teacher voice from Charlie Brown.

Bucky went with the ebb and flow of the crowd from there. He’d never been a football fan, really, didn’t have all the rules in his head like his dad had or Steve did. Bucky moved with the crowd, not of his own accord: when they jumped up, he jumped up, and when they groaned and booed, he groaned and booed, and he did it all with a dopey grin on his face. 

He caught Steve looking at him a few times through the first half of the game.

He liked Steve when Steve looked at him like that.

They spent most of halftime making out under the bleachers, hidden from plain view--probably would have gotten away with it too, if  _ someone _ hadn’t sucked a bruise right into the other’s skin. 

Bucky. 

Bucky did that. You could see the mark half obscured by the collar of Steve’s t-shirt and it was because Bucky  _ put it there _ . 

“You’re real proud of yourself, huh?” Steve grinned, and Bucky nodded. 

“Damn straight.” 

“Who is?” Tony leaned over Bruce.

“No one,” Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“The straights can’t sit with us,” Tony whispered. “Tell them.”

“There aren’t any  _ straights  _ here, for god’s sake,” Bruce tried to shove Tony aside, the euphoria of his high obviously wearing off. 

“Good, because they can’t sit with--Ow! Fuck you, man.”

“Stop bitching about the  _ straights _ ,” Bruce said. “You’re harshing my mellow.” 

Bucky snorted and shook his head. Bruce’s mellow wasn’t his problem; all he had to worry about right now was how sweet it was to be loved by Steve. 

Great, now that song was gonna be stuck in his head for the rest of the night. 

He hummed, ‘ _ How sweet it is to be loved by you’. _

When the game ended, BAHS had beaten the Double Helixes by the thinnest of margins. Everyone in the stands broke out into raucous celebration when, wouldn’t you know it, ol’ number 49 threw what turned out to be the winning touchdown. 

Clint even hopped up on the bench and belted out a victorious  _ ‘ODINSON!’  _ to the heavens above, which in turn drew Thor’s attention up to their section of the bleachers. As soon as he saw his six moron friends waving their limbs at him, he pepped up and waved his limbs back. 

“We should wait for him,” Nat said as they finally began to file out of the stands. “Maybe he’ll want to eat.” 

“I’m always hungry after an athletic event,” Clint agreed. 

“You’re just always hungry,” Bruce pointed out. 

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Steve clapped Clint on the shoulder, and the two of them bumped fists. 

“Maybe his parents are waiting for him,” Bucky said. “My mom always took me to get food after games.” 

They loitered near the locker rooms. While Clint and Tony each tried to climb the chain link fence that separated the stands from the field, Bruce and Nat watched  with their phones closeby.

“I’m not taking you to the hospital, dick,” Bruce told Tony. 

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t plan on going, then,” Tony said, then shouted, “PARKOUR!” 

This was followed immediately with a loud thud. 

“Ooh,” Nat sucked her teeth. “He okay?” 

A moment before Bruce concluded, “Yeah, he’ll be fine.”

Bucky, meanwhile, stood a few yards away and stared up at the sky. He took in a breath and let it back out, the grass and dark and damp earth lingering in each of his senses. 

“Hey,” Steve nudged his shoulder. “You okay?” 

Bucky hummed and nodded. “Just remembered how much I loved this part, y’know?” he said. “After a really good game, coming out here with the lights on and the sky all dark and everything so quiet… it’s nice. Nighttime is nice.” 

Steve hummed back, enjoying said silence with Bucky for only a few more moments before a jovial voice boomed off of every surface surrounding the field. Bucky and Steve looked over toward the locker rooms and saw Thor, freshly showered, strutting toward them in his jeans and a t-shirt. 

“What are you all doing here?” he asked.

“We came to see you play, dingus,” Tony told him, wheezing and holding his side. “Not that we were invited or anything.” 

Thor’s fair eyebrows pinched on his forehead. “I did invite you,” he reminded Tony. “I invite a lot of people, they’ve just never shown up before.”

“Not even your dad?” Nat asked. 

Thor shook his head. 

“My father is very busy with his company,” he said.

“I feel that, big guy,” Tony gave a nod of solidarity. “I got a shitty dad too.”

Thor looked around at the whole of them, cogs so obviously turning in his head. 

“You… I didn’t think anyone would be interested,” he said. “Had I known--”

“Dude,” Clint shoved his hands in his pockets, “We’re your friends, and friends go to friends’ events, and also? You’re really awesome at your whole football throw… thing.” 

“Thank you,” Thor said, though he still seemed to be stuck on the whole ‘friends’ thing Clint had been talking about. At that, Bucky had his own moment of silent solidarity. 

A few beats went by after that, so Tony filled the silence. 

“You wanna go get wasted on breakfast food at that 24-hour diner down the street?” 

All at once, Thor’s face broke out into a million watt grin and he let out a triumphant laugh. 

“A fitting celebration for a victory such as this!” he declared. “To the diner!” 

“Van,” Clint corrected him, so Thor shouted back as loudly as he could:

“To the van, my friends! Let us make haste!”

 

* * *

 

Friday night festivities bled into Saturday shenanigans. Saturday shenanigans gave way to a lazy Sunday, found Steve hanging out at what he then realized was  _ their hangout. _ Tony’s house was  _ theirs _ . With Mr. Stark never being around and Tony having basically unlimited resources when it came to booze, pot, and food, it was something right out of a teen movie, it was so perfect. 

Unfortunately, after such a fun weekend, Monday crash had to come. This wasn’t a gentle ‘float-back-down-to-earth’ crash either. This was a nosedive, mayday-mayday crash and it left Steve with an emotional hangover that almost rivaled his physical one. He’d been so desperate to get out of his house this morning and get the day over with that he arrived a whole hour before school was supposed to start. 

There were two people who were on campus this early--or, two people Steve wanted to talk to, anyway--and Pepper would try to pull him into some student council bullshit. 

Steve plopped down on a bench beside Bruce and let out a sigh. “Some weekend, huh?” 

Bruce looked up from the school library’s copy of  _ The Disappearing Spoon _ and slid his glasses up his nose. For as cold as it was, he wore considerably fewer layers than Steve. God, when would he stop being such a wimp? 

“You’re here early,” Bruce observed rather than replied to Steve’s inane comment. 

“Yeah,” Steve tried to massage the pain from behind his eyeballs. “If my dad saw me like this I woulda gotten the third degree. Fourth degree, maybe.”

Bruce hummed. 

“Like, he’s not a hardass, but,” Steve struggled to find the words, “He’s kinda judgmental sometimes, you know?” 

“I do,” Bruce gave a singular nod, but didn’t look like he intended to elaborate. 

So, Steve prompted, “Any instance in particular?” 

Bruce shrugged, “My parents are academics. My mom’s a professor and my dad’s a molecular biologist. They kinda built their whole relationship on thinking they’re better than other people.” 

“Wow,” Steve’s eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. “That’s intense.” 

Bruce hummed again, “And guess who’s a huge disappointment?” 

Steve narrowed his eyes. Who--how? 

“Dude, you’re the smartest guy I know,” Steve said. “Including Tony. You gotta admit, for a self-proclaimed genius, he’s kinda dumb.” 

“Yeah, but that’s not his fault, really,” Bruce leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, staring directly into the middle distance. “His mom died when he was born, his dad never took an interest in him. He’s really bad at knowing what’s appropriate when it comes to dealing with people.” 

“No shit,” Steve shot back, not thinking of any instance in particular until--

“Okay, what he said at Halloween was over the line,” Bruce conceded. “Having said that, you know he doesn’t actually think like that, right? Even if Bucky hadn’t, uh… y’know. He still would’ve felt bad. Sometimes you just have to explain things to him. He doesn’t get why it’s not okay a lot of the time.” 

Steve let out a breath. Halloween had been in the very back of his mind, and okay, maybe he was a little less okay with Tony than he cared to admit. 

“For the record, I’d be saying this even if he didn’t blow me,” Bruce added. “He’s a good person. An idiot, but a good person.” 

Something flashed on Bruce’s face, something Steve hadn’t seen before. The calloused edge of his gaze had gone soft, their intent no longer to gather and store information, but to communicate something he didn’t have the vocabulary to say. 

“You love him a lot, huh?” Steve asked. 

Bruce’s lips quirked up to one side and he huffed. 

“Against my better judgment,” he said. 

Which led Steve to his next line of thought, “What about Pepper?” 

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“What about her?” he asked. 

“Y’know,” Steve shrugged. “Tony’s hot for her. And probably still in love with her if he thinks he’s going to marry her one day.” 

“So?” 

“That doesn’t bug you?” Steve’s mind boggled at the thought of Bucky loving someone else, but it didn’t seem to bother Bruce in the slightest. 

“The thing about it is,” Bruce paused, searching for the right words to explain, “Pepper and I are different people, and I think some people are capable of loving more than one person at a time. And Tony happens to be one of those people. I guess I am too, in a way. I’m not so big into the sex, per se, but… I don’t know. It’s nice having someone around who’s not afraid of you.”

As though suddenly realizing the depth into which he’d just delved, Bruce sobered. 

“It’s way too fucking early,” Bruce rubbed his fingers against his eyeballs. “Let’s go grab some coffee.” 

The walk to the nearest coffee shop wasn’t too bad, just cold. Steve kept himself bundled up tight, and Bruce took it as an opportunity to laugh at him. 

“Man, you are a total baby,” Bruce shook his head. “I don’t mean it as an insult. It’s not a baby’s fault it can’t do anything.” 

“Look dude,” Steve huffed, “It’s Monday, I’m hungover and I’m cold.” 

“Whatever,” Bruce snorted. “At least it’s only a three day week.” 

Steve frowned. A three day week? What the hell was that supposed to--

“Oh,  _ shit _ ,” he grabbed two handfuls of his own hair. “It’s Thanksgiving on Thursday.” 

“Did you seriously forget?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. 

With a leaden ball sinking low in his gut, Steve realized that he had indeed forgotten. 

**oo**

Okay, so you know that totally innocuous thing that nobody really cares about but matters to you a whole hell of a lot? For instance, some people could find out they were out of coffee the morning before a long day and shrug it off without another thought, and other people would let it ruin their whole week. 

There were two holidays that had never snuck up on Steve: the Fourth of July (for obvious reasons) and Thanksgiving. 

See, before his mom had passed away, she’d made the biggest deal out of Thanksgiving. It wasn’t the story behind the holiday, which no one should be celebrating, quite frankly, but the spirit of the holiday itself. In her life, Sarah Rogers had made sure that Steve knew the importance of gratitude. 

_ “Kindness is a rare thing in this world,”  _ she would say _ , “It’s not something to take for granted.” _

A week before Thanksgiving, mom would come home from the market with all the stuff she’d need to prepare the forthcoming feast. She made everything from scratch--made her own stuffing, roasted her own pumpkins for pie, made her own pie crusts… every last morsel of the meal infused with Sarah Rogers’ TLC.

Last year had been the first Thanksgiving without her. Dad had tried so hard to make it special, but dad was a shitty cook and a roasted turkey turned to a charred turkey very quickly. 

_ “I just wanted to do something special,”  _ dad had said. 

_ “You did _ ,” Steve had reassured him.  _ “Think of how hard mom’s laughing her ass off right now.” _

That had made dad laugh too, because it was true. They wound up getting a roasted chicken and a couple of pies from the market and called it a day. Not anything remarkable, food-wise, but he and dad had been finding their footing, and it had been special in its own right. 

“Well, obviously you’ll have Thanksgiving dinner with us.”

Steve stared at Winnie for a good few seconds before he asked, “What?” 

“I’m not letting you and your father eat--” she stopped, as though the very thought of what she was about to say repulsed her to her core. She redirected the thought and repeated, “You’re eating with us.” 

Steve looked over at Bucky. They were in his room, on his bed, playing Mario Kart (thankfully, fully clothed) when she busted open the basement door and shouted down to them an incoherent string of words that, when repeated from a closer proximity, turned out to be outrage at Steve’s lack of holiday plans. 

“You just told a Jewish mother you’re not eating for a holiday that is specifically about eating,” Bucky said. “You’re on your own, man.”

“We’re eating,” Steve halfheartedly defended, “Just… not in the way everyone else is.”

“Well, that’s why you’re eating with us,” Winnie insisted. “Tell your father--actually, no. I’ll call him and tell him.”

“Wait, how do you know my dad’s phone number?” Steve asked. 

“You think for one second I don’t have my ways?” Winnie challenged back. “Steven, I’ve been ten steps ahead of you since you were six years old. You’re not going to have sex with my son--”

“Ma!” 

“--without me having a direct line to your father,” Winnie finished. 

“Wait, my  _ dad _ knows?” Steve asked. His dad knew he was a switch hitter (and in fact had gifted him with that very t-shirt in an effort to show just how  _ hep _ he was to  _ that crowd _ ), but that he was with Bucky and… god, he was bright red, wasn’t he?

“He’s not an idiot, Steven,” Winnie said. “All it took was one look at you two and he figured as much.” 

“Ma!” Bucky exclaimed again, “Shit’s sake, what if Joe didn’t know? You would’ve outed Steve to his dad. That’s fucked up!” 

“Mind your manners and remember that I’m not an idiot either, please,” Winnie replied coolly, and before turning to go back upstairs, told Steve, “We eat early on Thanksgiving. I expect you and your father to be here by two o’clock at the very latest.” 

With one last pleading look at Bucky, who was of no help, by the way, Steve accepted his fate with a sullen, “Yes ma’am”, and that was that.

When Steve woke up the next morning to the smell of nothing, he couldn’t help but feel the profound realness of the ache in his chest. Grief came in waves, he’d found. Mom had been gone for so long by now that Steve could go whole days without debilitating sadness sinking into his bones.

But today, for whatever reason, it hit him almost as hard as it had the day she’d passed. 

Steve would never again wake up to the smell of his mom’s turkey roasting in the oven. He would never eat her pumpkin pie, or pumpkin bread again. He would never again hear her laughing in the kitchen as dad mashed potatoes with unnecessary vigor. 

The ache got worse, and Steve was pretty sure that this was what it felt like when a part of your soul died. He rolled over, hugged his pillow to his chest, and let the well of tears overflow. There wasn’t any solution either, nothing he could do to bring himself out of it. All he could do was ride the wave to its end and pray he came out topside. 

He heard his phone buzz and he checked--holy crap, that was a lot of messages.

**_Peggy Carter_ ** _ now _

_ Your friendship has made every day since we met an absolute joy. I don’t know what I would have done without you. Love you and I’m very thankf… _

**_Jim Morita_ ** _ 20 min ago _

_ Happy Thanksgiving, dude! Eat lots of pie (and your boyfriend’s dick) for me. Xoxo Gossip Girl jim _

**_Dum Dum_ ** _ 1 hr ago _

_ Happy Thanksgiving. Grateful for you and all that sappy crap. Love ya, man. _

Steve couldn’t keep scrolling. He turned off the screen, put the pillow over his face, and let his body quake under the force of the deep breaths he was trying to take. What the hell was there to be grateful for? Mom was gone and he was never getting her back. 

The wave left as quickly as it had come on. Now throwing back the covers and getting ready for the day didn’t seem so impossible. It wasn’t ideal either, but it wasn’t impossible now and that was what counted. 

Steve padded out of his room in his socks and a pair of jeans, not ready for a shirt quite yet. It was cold in the apartment, which meant dad hadn’t talked to the super about getting their heat fixed yet. Dad was busy, Steve knew, and neither of them were there a lot of the time, but they had to do something about it before actual winter came and they froze solid. 

“Steve?” He heard dad call from the other room. 

“Yup,” Steve called back from the kitchen. He yanked open the fridge, grabbed the orange juice, and poured himself about half a mugful. 

He tipped back the juice just as dad walked in the kitchen, also in a similar state of undress. 

“This thing today,” dad said, “Fancy?” 

“It’s Winnie Barnes, dad,” Steve replied, “You’re talking about the woman who upcycled her son’s dungarees into a shopping bag.” 

“Dungarees,” dad just repeated, then shook his head, “ _ My _ dad called ‘em ‘dungarees’, kid.” 

Steve shrugged, “Say what you wanna say, point is that it’s not gonna be fancy, so you can relax.” 

Dad nodded and wound up wearing just about the same thing as Steve: jeans, t-shirt, and a button down (to be buttoned and worn in case of emergency fancy). 

It was Bucky who answered the door, and also Bucky who made it way more awkward than it had to be when he blurted out, “Wow. You look amazing.” 

“Thanks, Buck,” dad replied and slapped Bucky on the shoulder. 

“Oh, my god,” Steve rubbed his hands over his face. 

“Your mom like wine?” Dad asked, now holding up the bottle he’d brought. “I didn’t know, but I brought it just in case.” 

“Hey, if she doesn’t drink it, I will,” Bucky said, realizing only a second too late that he shouldn’t have. 

“Wow,” Steve looked up at the awning over the door. 

“Uh-huh,” dad nodded, taking it all in stride, “Well, haven’t seen the new place yet. You gonna invite an old man in or what?” 

Bucky stepped aside and let dad walk past him and into the apartment. Steve, however, remained outside for just a few moments longer. 

“Well, he  hasn’t changed much,” Bucky said. 

Steve meant to reply, honest, but nothing worth saying came to mind. He just looked at Bucky, silently praying that he would just understand and… 

“What’s up?” Bucky cocked his head. 

… Aaaand here it came. All of a sudden Steve’s eyes welled up and spilled over again and, shit, now standing even felt like too much. 

“Whoa,” Bucky’s hands landed on either bicep, “What’s going on, gorgeous?” 

Rather than speak, Steve’s throat open and closed around a sob and he threw himself against Bucky. To his credit, Bucky was a lot bigger and stronger than he realized, and was able to withstand Steve coming at him at full force. 

“Steve,” Bucky said softly, “Stevie, what’s wrong?” 

It took a few tries, but Steve finally choked, “I forgot.” 

“You forgot what?” he asked. 

Steve squeezed Bucky tighter and buried his nose in the crook of his neck. He smelled clean, like he’d showered specifically for the occasion. Even after only a couple months, Bucky’s hair was starting to grow out again. It tickled the side of Steve’s face and god, if he never had to leave this man it would be just… great. 

“Hey, c’mon,” Bucky directed gently and pulled Steve into the building. They didn’t make it into the apartment, instead opting to sit on the staircase while Steve had his Moment. 

Bucky’s fingernails glided over the back of his neck and down between his shoulder blades, tickling in soothing strokes until Steve’s breathing evened out on its own. He hadn’t stopped crying, but at this point Steve didn’t know that that would ever happen. 

“My mom,” Steve finally spoke up. Was that how his voice sounded? 

“Yeah?” Bucky leaned his head on Steve’s shoulder and scratched his flesh fingers through the hair on Steve’s nape. 

“It’s my mom’s favorite holiday,” Steve told him, whispering like it was some sort of secret. “And I forgot it.” 

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky sighed and pulled him even closer. “Fuck, that’s rough.” 

Steve wished they were on Bucky’s bed. He needed a full body hug right now and there was no way in hell he could get it on this staircase. Bucky made the most of it, though, and stroked his hands and fingers over where he knew Steve most needed, and Steve melted into it. 

“Y’know,” Bucky licked his lips, “When my dad died… it was a long time coming. Doctors said he was living on borrowed time anyway, but he pushed himself as hard as he could go until his body gave out. And you know he loved Christmas, right? He always made such a big deal out of it, and I think he knew he wasn’t going to be around for it that year. The first Christmas without him we had this big celebration--everyone came and hung out and it was sort of an extended memorial, you know? It helped us a lot.”

He sniffed, trying to keep control over his voice as he continued, “But the next year… people never talk about that part, you know? The first year it’s like, ‘yeah, okay, they’re not here and that’s just how it’s going to be now’, but then… I don’t know, you heal up a little bit afterward. Life keeps going and you worry about little shit again and you start to think that you’re adjusting, or adjusted or whatever, but. Christmas came again and when it came time to go get a tree, I just… I fuckin’ broke, you know? Dad and I always went to get the tree. That was just part of Christmas, and realizing I’d never get to do it again… it sucked. And it still sucks.” 

Bucky, voice now thick with tears, sniffed back a well of snot in his nose and used a free hand to wipe his face. His cheeks were red and his eyes were a little puffy, but Steve couldn’t move to give him the love he wanted to give because Bucky beat him to it. He brushed his knuckles along Steve’s cheeks and held on to him like it would’ve been a federal offense to let him go. 

Steve swallowed his saliva and asked, “Does it ever get better?” 

Bucky let out a huff and shook his head. “It never gets better. There’s always going to be this thing in your chest, y’know? There’s always going to be sadness and guilt, and you’ll probably still think to yourself when something happens, ‘man, I can’t wait to tell mom’ and get really fucking sad when you realize you can’t, but. Far enough out, you’ll start having days when it won’t hurt as much. Some days you might even forget that you have a reason to be sad. It’s something you’ll have to carry around forever, but you get stronger. After a while, carrying it around with you gets a little easier.” 

Steve stared at Bucky’s face for much longer than he’d intended. It wasn’t until then that Steve realized he’d had a tremendous weight on his chest  until Bucky--his stringy-haired serious-faced boyfriend who couldn’t clean the dirty dishes out of his room--had come along and pushed it off like it was nothing. 

“Thanks, Buck,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Bucky gave him a half-smile, “Occasionally I’m kinda helpful.” 

“I love you,” Steve told him and squeezed him tight. “I love you and just… thank you.” 

“I love you too, Stevie,” Bucky kissed him on the top of his head. “I got you, okay? No worries.” 

Steve squeezed harder and repeated, “Thank you.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ****WARNING**:** This chapter contains more graphic descriptions of Bucky's assault. If there's anything specific that needs to be tagged that I haven't mentioned before, please let me know. 
> 
> Thank you all. Stay safe and be well <3

The city transformed overnight. One night Bucky was stuffed full of Thanksgiving leftovers, praying to whatever god happened to be listening at the moment that the hour of his death would be upon him soon, and the next morning every hall, every street, every man, woman, and child in the street, was fully decked for Christmas. 

Bucky didn’t mind. He liked Christmas, despite the fact that his mom’s family was very, very Jewish. Mom wasn’t, particularly, and had decided to break this news to her own mother in the form of announcing her engagement to George Barnes. 

Bubb had been less than pleased, to say the least, but whatever. Before she passed away, she did what most Jewish grandparents do when their grandchildren were halflings: she made Hanukkah into the Jewish Christmas.

For eight nights, she would come over and light candles with Becca and Bucky, fill them to the brim with gelt and latkes and tell them the story of the rededication of the Temple by the Jews in a Greek-dominated something-or-other. Bucky never really listened. He just ate chocolate and fried potatoes and half-heartedly sang in Hebrew when his grandma let him light the candles on the menorah. 

Honestly, he never knew when the hell Hanukkah even started until the Google doodle told him, and even then it was a crapshoot. He didn’t look at the Google doodle everyday, for god’s sake. 

That Monday, though, Bucky was sitting at his table in the cafeteria, minding his own business, when all of a sudden two primly wrapped nearly-identical packages smacked down onto the table in front of him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Clint sat down after that, his face pulled up in a cheesy grin. 

“Happy Hanukkah,” he chirped. 

“Uh,” was all Bucky managed to say, counting the days in his brain. 

Shit. 

“I was going to come over last night,” said Clint, “but I figured it being the first night and all, you were probably doing something with your family.”

“Oh,” Bucky looked at the wrapping paper more closely. Rainbow-colored menorahs and dreidels sat on a bright blue background, interspersed with stars of David and loopy ‘ _ Happy Hanukkah _ ’s.

“You can open them,” Clint said. “I kind of didn’t realize it was coming up so soon. I didn’t have time--whatever. Happy Hanukkah, I’m going to stop talking.” 

Bucky snorted and picked up one of the gifts. It was lighter than air, it felt like, and squishy. After seventeen Hanukkahs, Bucky knew where this was going. He tore through the paper and pulled out a pair of (fine, not socks, but close) mittens--fuzzy, thick mittens that weren’t a hokey blue and white, but black and gray with red stars on the backs. 

“Whoa,” was all he managed to say. “Dude, where’d you find these?” 

“I modified a pattern I found on Pintrest,” Clint said, then paused. “Jesus, that is an actual sentence that just left my face.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. 

“You made these?” he asked. 

Bucky swore that he Clint go pink. 

He turned them over in his hands, finding that they weren’t just mittens, but in fact were those mittens that doubled as fingerless gloves. 

“ _ Dude _ ,” Bucky shook his head and looked back up at Clint. “These are incredible.” 

“Thanks,” Clint gave him a smile, “I’m glad you like them. I know you don’t really like talking about your arm or anything, but I figured, y’know… you’d probably appreciate something that’d cover up part of it if you wanted to cover.” 

If the time and place permitted, Bucky would’ve given Clint a great big kiss right on his face. 

The other gift did prove to fall in line with Hanukkah tradition and was in fact a pair of white-and-blue socks. 

“Those aren’t as cool-looking,” Clint admitted, “But I figured no one had to see ‘em unless you wanted ‘em to. Just stuff ‘em in your boots if you’re going out or something. Otherwise, they’re supposed to be home socks.” 

Thick, buttery soft yarn slid over Bucky’s fingerpads and, yeah, that’s it. He reached down under the table and kicked off his boots. He pulled off the hole-ridden black socks he’d slept in the night before and replaced them with Clint’s. 

They were indeed as soft on his feet as they were in his hands. 

“Dude, you rock,” Bucky told him. “Seriously, no one’s ever given me a Hanukkah present before.” 

“Well, I don’t have enough for all eight nights,” Clint told him. “But I wanted to get yours to you while it was still the actual holiday, you know? Everyone else gets theirs around Christmas.” 

Which made Bucky realize, shit, Christmas was right around the bend and he hadn’t even thought of getting gifts for his friends. He never got gifts for the other friends he had, but gifts weren’t exactly that crowd’s MO. The one time Rumlow had told Bucky he’d had a gift for him, he’d ended up in the hospital with a critically injured arm and a brain that couldn’t feel anything but shock. 

Bucky’s stomach churned. 

“You okay?” Clint asked him. 

“Yeah,” Bucky lied.

It was no use lying to Clint, though. Bucky should’ve known that by now. 

“I don’t expect gifts back,” Clint said. “I give people gifts because I love them. And, since it’s probably escaped your attention, I better just tell you that I love you outright.” 

Before he could stop himself, Bucky asked, “Why though?” 

Clint narrowed his eyes, “Because my heart is a fucking idiot and tends to take a liking to other idiots. Especially other idiots who underestimate their own likeability.” 

Bucky huffed and looked down at the mittens again. 

“I can’t believe you even know how to knit,” he said. 

“My mom taught me,” Clint said, looking to be grateful for the shift in topic. “Or, my foster mom, I guess. I call her my mom. She’s been more of a mom to me than anyone.” 

“You’re a foster kid?” Bucky asked. Shit, this was not how he’d wanted to redirect this conversation. 

“Yup,” Clint nodded and took the wad of discarded wrapping paper in his hands. He tore off a corner, then another, and another. “My parents… I don’t know where my mom is, to be honest, and my dad’s locked up because he’s an abusive piece of shit who thinks it’s totally normal to beat his kid into an irreparable handicap.” 

Absently, he reached up and fiddled with the shell of his hearing aid. 

“How old were you?” Bucky asked, and Clint looked up. So, Bucky clarified, “When you had to get your, um,” he gestured to Clint’s hearing aids. 

“Four,” Clint replied. “Ever asked an alcoholic too many questions in a row?” 

He mimed a forceful backhanded smack. 

“Jesus,” Bucky’s eyes went wide. 

“Yeah, he was on lunch break right then,” Clint folded his arms over his chest. “My dad kinda freaked about it. He meant to catch my cheek, but I turned my head and he popped me right in the ear. Sent me right into the end table. Ruptured both eardrums. Suddenly it’s my fault, because  _ if you’d just stayed still _ …” 

Tentatively, Clint looked up at Bucky again. 

Bucky, who held onto his metal arm like it was the only thing keeping him from outright sobbing in the school cafeteria. 

Clint continued, “I thought it was my fault for a long time. Having to get hearing aids, watching my dad get arrested and go to jail, and even my mom hopping onto the narco train and never coming back… all the shitty foster families that came after, too. He says he doesn’t, but I know Barney still blames me for all of it. Because I couldn’t just sit there and take a beating like everyone else.” 

Bucky, unable to say anything else, told him, “It’s not your fault.” 

“Oh, I know,” Clint nodded, the brightness of his voice somehow not marring its sobriety, “I know that now, anyway. It took a long time. It’s hard, though, y’know? It’s the butterfly effect. If I hadn’t turned my head, my dad wouldn’t have gone to jail, mom wouldn’t have started using again, Barney and I wouldn’t have cycled through foster homes like we did… It’s just one of those things, I guess. Defining moments of our lives are hardly ever full of pomp and circumstance; they’re just little things that you wouldn’t even bat an eye at if you didn’t know any better.” 

Without thinking, Bucky stood and came around to the other side of the table. He slid onto the bench beside Clint, draped his metal arm over his shoulders and squeezed.

Clint hissed. 

“Shit, sorry,” Bucky took his arm back. “Cold? Sometimes it gets cold.”

“Nah, it’s not that,” Clint grabbed at the meat of his left shoulder. From under the collar of his shirt, Bucky could see a white bandage. 

“What the hell?” he asked and attempted to get a closer look. “What happened?” 

“Ah, nothing,” Clint shook his head, “Barney’s just a sack of dicks sometimes. He got pissy about the van again the other night and guess who got a new switchblade?” 

Bucky’s eyes may as well have popped out of his head. 

“Did you--Your brother fucking stabbed you?!” he shouted. 

“It happened like three whole days ago,” Clint rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, he’s… y’know, whatever. It’s fine. He just grazed me, I’m fine.” 

“What the fuck?” Was all Bucky managed. 

“Yeah,” Clint nodded. “So, say what you will about yourself. At least know you’ve never tried to stab your little sister just so you could use a minivan.”

At Bucky’s pointed silence, Clint said, “Barney’s got some problems, okay? But he’s my brother and I love him, and I know he loves me too. He knows what I’ve been through, y’know? Every last gruesome detail. If I needed him, he’d be there.”

Another stretch of silence followed, so he nudged Bucky in the side and gave him a smile.

“Cheer up, buttercup,” he said. “Everything’ll be all right.” 

Bucky leveled a look at him and cocked his head. 

“You really believe that, huh?” 

“One hundred percent,” Clint said. “Sometimes hanging onto that is all I got.” 

Bucky huffed into a smile, then hugged his his arm around Clint’s waist, careful not to squeeze too hard. 

“Thanks, man,” he said. 

“No problem, man,” Clint said back, and that was that. 

The rest of the day found Bucky in a half-baked barely-there haze. Steve kept asking him if he was okay, and (like an idiot, because Bucky knew that Steve knew he was lying) said that he was  _ ‘totally fine _ ’. And why shouldn’t he be? He had a good friend who made him Hanukkah gifts, a boyfriend who wanted him to be okay, and yeah, he had troubles, but who didn’t?

Of course, every time he reminded himself of this, his mind wandered back to Clint. One of the nicest people on the planet and even he had a wealth of Tragic Backstory--like,  _ actually  _ tragic. Bucky had been through some shit, but at least his dad never beat him deaf. Sure, he’d lost an arm, but that was more Bucky’s doing than--

Wait. 

Holy shit, what if… shit, what if it wasn’t his fault? What if it was like Clint said, with that whole butterfly effect thing? How was he supposed to know that drinking a few extra beers would lead to following Rumlow back to his house, into his bed, would lead to making out and getting handsy, would lead to being held down--

“Hey, asshole!” 

Bucky snapped to attention. The school day was over and, as Steve had some student council thing he’d promised to do, he’d fallen to the old default of walking back home with Becca. 

Becca, who held his jacket sleeve in her hand, who looked at him now like he was legitimately insane. 

Realizing then that he’d almost stepped off of the sidewalk and into oncoming traffic, Bucky took a shaky breath. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Becca demanded. 

“Nothing!” Bucky shouted back, then deflated, “Sorry, god. I don’t know what’s going on with me.” 

_ Yes, you do.  _

“I swear to god, if you’re low-key trying to off yourself, I will kill you myself, then resurrect you, then kill you again, because fuck you if you think you’re leaving me alone with mom and just getting away with it.” 

Fury danced over her round face, the promise of murder very real in her eyes. 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said. “Jesus, I was just spacing out.” 

“Obviously,” Becca huffed. “You shithead.” 

“Wow, real nice considering I almost died,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “I love you too, shithead.” 

“Takes one to know one,” Becca mocked back. 

But she grabbed Bucky’s right hand in hers and tugged him along the sidewalk, taking care to keep him close to her side. It sent Bucky right back to middle school, walking home with Becca and clutching her hand in his until they were back home because he was her big brother, and if anything ever happened to her it would be on him. 

It never really occurred to him that Becca might feel the same about him. 

As soon as they were home, Bucky came to the conclusion he never thought he’d come to. He pulled out his phone and pulled up a text to Steve.

_ ‘Need to tell my mom and Becca abt the whole birthday thing. Will you come and sit with me? Emotional support or something.’  _

Bucky didn’t have to wait even a minute before Steve texted back,  _ ‘Of course I will.’  _

**oo**

Mom answered the door when Steve got there, so Steve fed her something about being over for dinner. It wasn’t anything particularly festive, but mom was always happy to have Steve at her table so she didn’t question it. 

Steve was tactical like that. 

Bucky was tactical too, it was just that his tactics were less about strategic white lies and more about smoking half a joint and doing deep breathing in the face of the massive pending panic attack ahead of him. 

When Steve came downstairs, Bucky was face down on his bed. 

“What are you doing?” Steve asked. 

Bucky lifted his head so Steve could hear him say, “I’m a starfish. Starfish don’t have to worry about bullshit, Steve.” 

“Starfish also don’t smoke weed,” Steve pointed out. 

Bucky paused, stared right ahead at the wall behind his mattress. 

“You’re right,” he said, “Goddamn it, you’re right.”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes,” Steve said and stepped over the mountains of mess so he could slide onto the bed with Bucky. 

God, his room was a mess. 

“My room’s a mess,” he told Steve. 

Sarcasm dripped from Steve’s drawn out, “No… you?”

“I’m not a fan of your sass, Rogers,” Bucky muttered and pushed himself up to sit beside Steve. 

“That’s a lie,” Steve chuckled. 

“It’s a total lie,” Bucky agreed and looked right at him. As always, he looked way hotter than anyone had any right to look. 

“Nice shirt, Nips McGee,” Bucky flicked the outline of Steve’s nipple through his almost comically tight t-shirt. 

“Ow,” Steve laughed and grabbed a handful of his tit. Bucky grinned back and slid his arms around Steve’s shoulders, bowed their foreheads together and hummed. 

“Thanks for coming,” he said, then dropped his voice to a whisper, “I’m fucking terrified, Stevie.” 

“I know,” Steve’s hand smoothed down over his side. “I’m here though, okay? No matter what, I’ve got you.” 

Bucky kissed him. 

That seemed to be the only appropriate response to something that stupidly loyal, right? 

Steve pulled them both to their feet after that, but followed Bucky’s lead upstairs. Mom was in the kitchen, enjoying her night off probably. Man, Bucky just had to ruin everyone’s good time, didn’t he? 

Oh good, and Becca was right there at the table, doing her homework. 

“Ma,” Bucky shoved his hands as deep into his sweater pockets as he could. 

“You boys can get plates if you’re ready,” mom replied without looking up from her close inspection of the rice on the stove. 

“No, it’s not that,” Bucky shook his head. 

“Is it about the musty bong water you obviously just bathed in?” Becca asked without even looking up from her geometry homework. 

“Oh,  _ James _ ,” mom lolled her head in that disappointed way that moms have about them. Bucky tried to take a step back, but Steve was right behind him and it was a little like backing into a brick wall. 

Then mom looked at him and her whole demeanor changed. Tendrils of graying dark hair framed her face, her glasses sat up high on her nose, her dark eyes flicked over him, assessing any physical damages. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” She asked. 

Bucky sighed and took a step away from Steve. He had to do this standing on his own two feet. Luckily, terrified though he was, the THC in his body had him feeling light and airy, like things might be okay after this even if he wound up a sobbing heap on the floor. 

God, how was he even supposed to start this? 

“So, you know how I’m not doing baseball anymore,” he began. 

_ Wow, yeah let’s lead with that, Barnes.  _

“Right,” mom nodded, still on alert. 

“I, um,” Bucky cleared his throat, “I wanted to tell you why.”

“Well, I assumed it had something to do with you vandalizing a bunch of public property while intoxicated,” mom placed a hand on her hip, a brow arching high above the plastic framed glasses. 

“Yeah, no,” Bucky shook his head. “I didn’t do that. I didn’t do any of that at all.”

Becca stopped writing, her attention full on Bucky now. 

_ Fuck _ , he couldn’t start crying already.

“So, we were hanging out and celebrating my birthday,” Bucky swallowed the knot in his throat. “I did that. But, um. We did get drunk, so we did that too. We weren’t smashing mailboxes, though. We were mostly just hanging out. And when everyone else left, one of the guys took me back to his place and we started fooling around, and I don’t remember a lot--”

“Who.”

Mom’s face was stone, her word more a statement than question. 

_ Tell me who it was _ . 

Bucky took a breath and sighed, “Brock Rumlow.” 

“What happened.” 

_ Tell me what happened _ . 

Between mom, Becca, and Steve, Bucky finally cracked. Nine months of build up finally compromised the dam, and now his brain was in critical danger of a fuckery flood. 

“We were all drinking at Rhodey’s, because his parents are never home and he’s got a nice-ish place, y’know? We kept drinking and drinking and… okay, so I’d tried to start coming out to the guys awhile ago, right? And they were cool with it, for the most part. They didn’t really care all that much, but I guess they thought I was only into guys, and when they found out I still liked girls--”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Mom asked. 

“Brock Rumlow,” Bucky repeated, licking his lips, “Then Johann Schmidt. Anyway, so on my birthday we were all drinking way too much, and I was going to stop, I really was, but Brock kept handing me drinks and I couldn’t turn him down, because he’s a total schmuck when he thinks you’re being a pussy about something--whatever, not relevant,” he added when mom cleared his throat. 

“So, when we all have to clear out, Brock invites me back to his house because he said he left his present for me at home or something lame I shouldn’t have fallen for,” Bucky gnawed at his lower lip. God, he really was an idiot, wasn’t he? “We get back to his house, and we’re, y’know… getting into it with the making out and everything. He kept giving me more booze and drinking with me, and I figure, ‘okay, closeted asshole sexually experimenting with the out asshole’, it’s basically a John Hughes movie, right?” 

Nobody bit at the joke. 

Bucky continued, red in the face and--great--full on crying now, “I’m blasted beyond anything now. And when he tries to get into my pants, I try to smack him away, but I’m, as I said, blasted beyond anything and I can’t really work my body. He gets my pants down and shoves me face-first into his bed,”

Bucky felt Steve go rigid beside him, heard his breathing speed up and slow down and speed up again. 

So, Steve was going to get the whole story now too. 

Great. 

Bucky cleared his throat again, “He shoves me down and I’m trying to get away but it’s not working. But he thought I was gonna get away, I guess? He tells Schmidt and that weird-ass cousin of his to hold me down. That’s when I really started freaking out. I, um… I’m pretty sure they planned it at least a little bit. And okay, Brock didn’t go in dry, but it still hurt. And I told him but he wouldn’t stop. He kept telling me something like… like, ‘remember this next time you wanna fuck some chick’.” 

The methodical pop of Steve’s knuckles bled into Bucky’s ears, but it was almost over. He couldn’t stop now. 

“I couldn’t get away,” he wiped the tears off his cheeks, “I tried so hard, but it--I couldn’t. They told me to stop thrashing, but I didn’t. I shoulda just stayed there and let it happen.” 

“No,” mom shook her head, her voice softer than Bucky had ever heard it. 

“I fucked up my arm because of it, ma,” Bucky grabbed at his metal arm. “The weird kid didn’t have too good a grip on me, but Schmidt did. I--I remember him freaking out when it happened. I heard it break before I felt it, but it didn’t really register. I just kept trying to get away even though they told me to stop moving, but I… I just wanted to get away so badly. After that, they got me dressed and dumped me in the ER across town. Then you know the rest.” 

The silence that followed was expectedly heavy. Bucky was hyper-aware of the three pairs of eyes on him, and it fucking figured that this would be the one time that these three particular people didn’t have anything to say. 

Chair legs scraped over linoleum, and suddenly Bucky had his arms full of Becca. She was crying, her body was hot from listening to something so intensely awful, and every second that passed found her hugging him harder and harder. 

Mom was next, wrapping her arms around both Becca and Bucky. Then Becca stepped aside and it was all mom. She held his head close to her chest, so he could hear her heartbeat, and swayed him back and forth where they stood. 

It took a few seconds to realize that the ugly-ass sounds in his ears were him. He was sobbing. His chest convulsed and his face was red and his snot ran out of his nose, but god help him it actually felt… not better, but. 

Maybe this was relief? He’d never intended on telling anyone about what happened, and he hadn’t realized how heavy it had been weighing on him. 

“I’ve got you, baby,” she hummed softly. She was crying too, Bucky could hear it. “Oh, baby… baby, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

Bucky shook his head, “Ma, no.” 

“No, I am,” she hiccuped. “I should’ve known something was wrong. I just--honey, the  _ pain _ you must be in. For so long, you’ve just kept this in… baby, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been better, I should’ve pressed you, I should’ve gotten you help--”

“Ma, I didn’t want it,” Bucky replied thickly. “I do now.” 

“Well, we’ll get it baby,” mom pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “We’ll get it, whatever you need.” 

Bucky nodded against her, then pulled away. Tried to, anyway. His mom wouldn’t let him go for another thirty seconds. 

Steve stood there behind Bucky, expression a mish-mash of unchecked rage, hurt, sadness, and a whole host of other things that Bucky couldn’t pick out right now. 

But first and foremost, Bucky could see the stupid longing in his stupid puppy-dog eyes, could practically feel him leaning in for a hug before asking if he could give one. So Bucky did the honors and hugged him first. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmured into his hair. 

“No sorry,” Steve shook his head. “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong.” 

“I lied,” Bucky choked, but Steve shushed him. 

“You’re okay,” he said. “I got you, remember? You do what you gotta do.” 

Bucky screwed his eyes shut and let himself cry until he couldn’t cry anymore. 

**oo**

Bucky hadn’t expected he would be so tired after telling his mom everything that happened. He also didn’t have much of an appetite to speak for, so Steve led him back downstairs and helped him get situated in bed. He also got him a glass of water, grabbed some extra blankets and a granola bar (“Just in case you get really hungry, Buck. You gotta eat.”) and then crawled into bed with him. 

“I love you,” Steve told him. “I love you so much, Buck.” 

He peppered kisses over Bucky’s face, stroked his hair and touched him like he was someone who wasn’t emotionally/physically/spiritually(?) mangled. Steve held him in the exact same way as he always had, because that’s just what Steve did. He didn’t fill the silence with extraneous words, but he didn’t tense up under it either. He just seemed to know that, right now, Bucky needed the close contact, needed that touch to reassure him that he wasn’t a monster or anything, that he wasn’t broken or ruined, needed to hear that he was still loved. 

Of course, Joe Rogers had to interrupt with a very loud phone call, demanding to know how in the happy hell Steve thought it was okay to break curfew on a Monday night. 

“Go,” Bucky nudged at Steve’s chest with his nose. “I’ll be okay.” 

Steve didn’t seem to be the least bit pleased with this, but only glared at Bucky as he spoke into the phone, “I’m on my way home.” 

Bucky moved to get up, but Steve stopped him. 

“Rest,” he said, “You don’t have to walk me out, I know the way.” 

“‘Kay, good,” Bucky sank into the warm spot Steve had left behind. “Can’t stairs right now.” 

Steve nodded and bent to kiss Bucky on the forehead, which Bucky rapidly turned into a kiss on the lips. They lingered, neither really wanting to say goodbye but both knowing they had to. 

“Text me when you get home,” Bucky said. 

“You got it,” Steve gave him one last kiss and jogged up the stairs. 

Bucky still felt pretty shitty, but it would’ve been stupid to have Steve here when they had school the next morning. Just because Bucky was in for a rough night didn’t mean Steve had to be too. 

Bucky rolled onto his back and stared at the stars on his ceiling. 

Wrecked. 

That was the word he was looking for. 

He felt wrecked, like a train just collided with him at full speed and shredded him from head to toe. He tried to close his eyes, tried to sleep, but his body wouldn’t have any of it. Even after smoking the rest of that joint Tony had given him, after throwing his knives at this month’s newest target, a screencap of a Donald Trump rally, even after shifting some of the mess piles into slightly more organized mess piles, he couldn’t sleep. 

Around two in the morning, Bucky tiptoed upstairs in hopes of making a sandwich or something, but he paused when he saw the blue-white glow of the TV flickering in the living room. 

Mom sat on the couch, her hair a tangled mess and her eyes bright red and puffy. Fuck, he hated making his mom cry. Bucky folded his arms over his chest and approached her, but didn’t say anything until he’d worked out what she was watching. 

“Project Runway?” Bucky asked. 

“It’s an old episode,” mom replied. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

“Me neither,” Bucky said. “Can I join you?” 

Mom looked up at him, then patted the empty spot beside her. Bucky sank down and, without missing a beat, shifted so he was cuddled up right against her. Even there, though, Bucky could still see that face of hers, that one that all moms get when they think they’ve failed their children completely. 

“They came and saw me the next day,” Bucky told her. “Rumlow and Schmidt. You were down in the cafeteria; I think they were sort of lurking, waiting for you to go. They told me if I ratted them out that they’d fuck me over ten times worse. I don’t know why I took it to heart.”

“Honey, you were in shock,” mom pet her hand over his hair. “I’m in shock and I only heard about it. I can’t imagine what must have been going through your head. I should’ve--”

“No,” Bucky looked up at her, “I should’ve told you.” 

“But it’s my job--” she took off her glasses and swiped at her eyes. “I’m your mother and it’s my job to keep you safe, and I didn’t.” 

“Ma, I’m seventeen,” Bucky said, now staring at the blue and white socks on his feet. “When shit goes south, sometimes you just gotta trust that everything’ll be all right, y’know?” 

Mom let out a waterlogged laugh, “You just told me you got raped, James, I need a little time for it to settle.”

Bucky winced at the word. He didn’t like it, didn’t like the way it sounded, didn’t like the way it felt to say it, but that was what happened. That thought alone made him feel disgusting from the inside out. 

But the socks on his feet stared right back at him, the product of someone who loved him enough to make something out of nothing for him. Someone who knew about hardships and pain, who always had a smile and a genuine zest for life that was pretty damn incredible. He’d planted a little seed of hope right in Bucky’s chest and no one, not even Brock Rumlow, could touch it. 

“It’s something to hang onto when shit gets rough,” Bucky said. “Everything’ll be all right.” 

Mom paused, then asked, “Since when are you an optimist?” 

Bucky smiled, “Sounds good, right? Clint told me that.” 

“Clint?” 

“Yeah, my friend,” Bucky stuck up his foot. “He made me Hanukkah socks.” 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” mom said. 

“Right?” 

Something about the exchange made mom hold onto Bucky even tighter. He patted her arm, told her that he couldn’t breathe, but she kept on hugging the everloving shit out of him. 

“You’re a good boy,” she said. “You’re my good boy and you always will be, no matter what.” 

Had he any tears left, he probably would have started to cry again. Instead, he settled on hugging his mom tight right back and telling her, “I’m glad you’re my mom.” 

He really, really was. 

  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

For the first time in months, Bucky Barnes woke up with the profound feeling of nothing weighing down on his chest. Maybe if he gave it a minute, reality would come and crush the air out of his lungs in a forceful grip, but nope. Nothing. When he took a breath, it soaked in all the way; when he let it out, it met no resistance. 

It would appear that Bucky woke this morning feeling… 

… okay? 

Weird. 

He sat up and looked around, then winced. A mild-yet-foul odor drifted into his nostrils, something that had  _ not _ been there yesterday. Or, god, maybe it had been. Smells like that didn’t just manifest overnight, did they? 

The Seussian mountains of dirty clothes had avalanched since he’d last taken stock of his room. Where yesterday he’d just seen the overall space of his room, today he saw dirty dishes, food wrappers, crusty tissues. The half-finished mugs of tea and coffee had sprouted small civilizations, the oldest of which had definitely graduated from bronze to iron age. Well,  _ those _ certainly weren’t helping the smell, that was for damn sure. 

Bucky held his breath and plucked two mugs off of his bedside stand. Did the spores in these mugs consider him their god? Were they waiting for their day of reckoning? Had they spent countless hours praying to him, never knowing that he was too depressed to care or even listen? Did they consider him their absentee father-god? 

“Jesus, I’ve gotta stop smoking so much pot with Clint,” Bucky muttered to himself as he tromped up into the kitchen. Mom had gone to bed when he had, and lucky for her, she didn’t have to be at the hospital until later this morning. Bucky didn’t get off so light, and after only a few hours of sleep was expected to go to school. 

For whatever reason, it didn’t seem that daunting today. 

Bucky made a few more trips up and down the stairs, until he’d bussed all the dishes from his room. He’d have to leave some of them to soak, but he’d stick a note above the sink to tell mom he’d wash them when he got home. 

A glance at the clock told him that what he’d been assuming would be a lengthy, time-consuming affair had been accomplished within three minutes. Without the bitching and pitching a morning fit, it seemed that getting ready for the day was not as involved a process as he had been feeling it to be. Even getting dressed didn’t take as long as he’d expected it to. So, with his extra time and spring in his step, Bucky grabbed the necessary ingredients out of the fridge and whipped up a batch of scrambled eggs and some bacon. 

… what? So they didn’t keep kosher, excuse the fuck out of him. 

With bacon and eggs plated and fifteen minutes before they had to leave, Bucky went to do the impossible: pull Becca Barnes away from the bathroom mirror. 

Only, the bathroom was empty. 

Holy shit, was Becca not even awake yet? 

Bucky knocked on her door. 

“Becks?” He called. “Rebecca, are you up?”

No response. 

Well, here’s to hoping she wasn’t masturbating. 

Bucky opened the door and popped his head in. 

“Becca?” He asked again. 

The lump of blankets on her bed moved, but no response came. 

“Okay, I know you’re up, asshole,” Bucky said as he tiptoed inside. “Get up, we gotta go soon.” 

“I’m not going to school,” she insisted, still under her covers. 

“Hey, shithead,” he jostled her. “If I have to go, you have to go.” 

Man, what the hell?

“Uh, so here’s the part where you call me a shithead back,” Bucky reminded her. When she didn’t reply, Bucky grabbed a handful of the covers and peeled them back. 

Her hair was wild, curling at the ends, and her makeup from the day before had left streaks of color on his face. Bucky only got a brief glimpse of this, however, as Becca then took it upon herself to turn away and curl up as small as she could. 

“Bec,” he heard himself say. “Shit, Bec--what’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” she muttered. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, “That’s the biggest crock of shit, Rebecca Liora.” 

“No, don’t middle name me,” she whined, now very clearly crying. 

“Mom’s been schooling us in  _ open and meaningful emotional communication _ since we were fucking fetuses, Rebecca,” Bucky snipped. “The day you don’t know why you’re feeling the way you’re feeling is the day I sprout wings and fly to the fucking moon. What’s wrong?” 

Becca wasn’t necessarily a fighter, but Bucky knew she couldn’t resist dishing back when Bucky came at her with both barrels like this. He’d snap at her, she’d sit up and snap back… she definitely wouldn’t just lie there like a slug, playing dead until the threat was gone. 

So why the fuck was she playing dead? 

“Jesus, woman, fucking yell at me!” Bucky demanded. 

“I c--[hic] _ \--can’t _ ,” she cried, and proceeded to explain herself right into her pillow, making it undecipherable to Bucky’s ears. 

“Okay, you’re gonna need to speak into the microphone,” Bucky said. 

A few moments passed, Bucky waiting patiently while Becca remained silent. She would crack. She had to. 

“I was so mean to you,” she finally said, her voice soft. “I mean, I’m always mean to you, but yesterday I was  _ actually  _ mean.” 

“Dude, you’re my sister,” Bucky told her, “I don’t take that shit to heart.” 

Becca rolled over, face even more of a mess now. She said, “I joked about you killing yourself. And then about me killing you. And you just--took it.” 

Bucky shifted. 

“I’m really sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know what happened, and even if it hadn’t happened, it’s not--I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want you dead.” 

“I know, Bekkelah,” Bucky stroked a hand over her hair. “I wouldn’t leave you, though. Not with mom. And when mom’s gone, I’m not gonna leave you alone. Not on purpose, anyway.” 

Becca sat up at that and flung her arms around Bucky’s shoulders. 

“I didn’t know--”

“Exactly,” Bucky hugged her back. “You didn’t know what happened. You couldn’t have. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve never done anything wrong, because you’re my little sister and you’re perfect and I love you.” 

Becca shook with laughter as she pulled back. 

“Asshole,” she muttered and wiped off her face. 

“That’s me,” Bucky gave her a cheesy grin. “Now get your ass up and get dressed. I’ll make your breakfast into a sandwich and you can take it with you.” 

Becca stared at him. 

“You made breakfast?” She asked. 

Bucky nodded. 

“You never make breakfast anymore,” she said. 

“Well, I did today,” Bucky said. “Might even do it again tomorrow. We’ll see where the day takes me, you little shit.” 

Becca smiled and wiped at her face again. 

“I love you too,” she said. 

**oo**

Bucky floated on air the entire way to school. Becca wouldn’t shut up about how much she loved her sandwich, he’d already exchanged several texts with Steve (stupid, sappy, emoji-filled texts), and it seemed he had enough bounce back in him to dance in place while they waited for a crosswalk light to change. He was so chipper that he may as well have chirped like a bird when he greeted his friends that morning. 

Endorphins were fucking weird, man. 

“Jesus, Steve, you got MDMA in your dick?” 

Steve squinted at Tony while Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“There’s no ecstasy in anyone’s dick, you fucking nerd,” he said as he took the seat between Steve and Bruce. “And even if there was, can’t I just be happy?” 

“Mm, historically no,” Bruce considered, “No, you can’t.” 

“Yo Barnes, incoming!” 

From across the table, Clint tossed another lighter-than-air gift his way. 

“Sweet,” Bucky grinned and tore into it. 

Tony’s mouth hung open. 

“How come he gets presents?” he asked. 

“Your dad’s on the Forbes list of 500 Wealthiest People in the World,” Bruce told him, like he didn’t know. 

“Yeah, and the guy’s never once even signed his own name on my Christmas card,” Tony pointed out, “He just uses that fucking stamp he had his secretary make. We get it, Howard, your hand cramps.” 

He folded his arms over his chest and scowled, leaving everyone to stare right at him. 

“Not that you’re bitter or anything,” said Bruce. 

Tony flipped him off. 

Bucky smiled both at the exchange and at Clint’s gift: a knitted potholder with a rooster emblem right in the middle. 

“No way,” Bucky laughed. “This is awesome.” 

“Get it?” Clint bounced his eyebrows, now leaning over the table so he could stage whisper,  _ “Because you like cock.”  _

Bruce rolled his eyes, but Bucky could see him totally smile when he thought no one was looking. 

“And,” Clint brought up a large canvas bag and hoisted it to the middle of the table. “Because I was up all night, the rest of you get your gifts today too.” 

The Christmas wrapping paper was green, dotted with cheesy-looking snowmen, and wrapped tightly over what Bucky (correctly) suspected were more knitted items. 

Nat got a pair of lacy-looking black and red fingerless gloves. Bucky recognized the yarn from his own gloves that he’d gotten yesterday, but Clint had managed to turn it into two completely different looking clothing items. 

“That’s a water bottle sock,” Clint told Thor, who held up a long black tube with a lime green, eggheaded alien knitted into the front (and the word BELIEVE spelled out below). 

“I love it!” Thor declared. His chair screeched as he stood and walked the extra two feet around Nat’s to get to Clint. He wrapped him up in a big bear hug and said, “By far one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.” 

Clint beamed. 

“Holy shit.”

Looking over, they all found Tony with a peach-colored lumpy looking cap fitted over his head. 

“Is that a fucking brain hat?” Bruce asked, distracted by the genuine look of cheer on Tony’s face. 

“A thinking cap,” Clint corrected. 

“Wow, I actually might hate you now,” Bruce shook his head and tore into his gift. 

He fell silent for a moment, then muttered, “Damn it, no I don’t.” 

His was a scarf knitted from deep green yarns, the rising stitches making a twisting pattern in the center of the scarf. 

“It’s a double helix,” Clint explained. 

Bruce fitted it over his neck and ran his fingers over the yarn, awed. 

Steve was the only one who had yet to open his gift. Bucky had been so caught up in seeing more of Clint’s creations that he hadn’t noticed Steve go stiff. Cautiously, Bucky turned to follow Steve’s line of sight and landed--great--right on Rumlow and Schmidt. Like always, they sat at the same table as a lot of other guys on the baseball team, and like always, something about them was amiss. 

“Dude, chill,” Bucky whispered. 

Steve turned to look at Bucky ever so slowly, death in his eyes. 

Aaaaand this was why Bucky hadn’t wanted to give Steve the unabridged version in the first place. 

“I’m not gonna chill, Bucky,” Steve told him. 

Bucky’s ears perked up at the very distinct sound of derisible laughter and he rolled his eyes. It was something Bucky had himself participated in once or twice, back in ninth or tenth grade, when fitting in and pleasing the leader of the pack was the most important thing in his mind. 

Any other day it might have crippled him, knowing that Rumlow and Schmidt were still trying to get his goat. It stung a little bit, but he’d just gotten his third handmade gift in a row from a friend he loved, and was watching while the rest of his new friends opened up their gifts too. 

Rumlow couldn’t piss on Bucky’s parade if he tried. 

“Well, will you at least open your present?” Tony asked, breaking the tension, “I wanna see what you got.” 

Steve had barely turned around before the laughs turned into something, something… Bucky didn’t want to say ‘worse’, because that implied that these two dipshits had two brain cells between them to rub together. No, this method of douchebaggery was about as schoolyard, seventh grade as it got. You laugh, you make your voice go all high (and it never hurt to throw in a few hyperbolic fake orgasmic sounds in there too), and you clown on someone’s name. 

In this case, everyone at the table could just barely hear Rumlow’s high, breathy,  _ “Fuck-me Barnes” _ . 

Bucky’s eyes went wide as Steve sent a breath out of his nose and stood. 

“Uh-oh,” Clint said. 

“God, here he goes,” Nat shook her head, bored. “Off to defend the honor of the fair maiden he’s wooing.” 

Bucky didn’t have time to get to his feet before Steve was practically on top of Rumlow, demanding, “What did you just say?” 

Rumlow, being the shithead he was, cocked his head and shrugged, “Nothing. Must be hearing things, Rogers.” 

“I don’t think I was,” Steve said. Bucky shot up to his feet and darted over to the table where Rumlow and Schmidt sat. He ignored the strange looks they were starting to get and just laid a hand on Steve’s arm. 

“Hey, c’mon,” Bucky soothed, “Easy does it.” 

It took a few moments of Steve so obviously struggling with his conscience before he conceded and turned to follow Bucky back to their friends.

_ “Mm, harder! Harder! Fuck-me Barnes!”  _

Bucky didn’t have time to blink before Steve had turned and launched himself at Rumlow. He hauled him up out of his seat by the collar of his letterman jacket and-- _ CRACK! _

Bucky sucked his teeth as Steve’s knuckles popped against Rumlow’s jaw, then watched as Steve pushed him down onto the ground and just started  _ wailing _ on him. Chaos erupted around them, various groups started to chant  _ Fight! Fight! Fight!  _ without realizing this wasn’t so much of a fight as it was a brutal beating. Steve didn’t even give Rumlow the chance to fight back, just kept clobbering his face with his fist until both resembled premium 80/20 ground chuck. 

Those close enough to the action could hear Steve’s enraged stream of consciousness over the crescendoing chants from the rest of the students:

“Goddamn -- piece -- of shit -- rapist --  _ fuck!”  _

Bucky tried to get to Steve through the crowd, but the nosier bystanders made it difficult. 

A loud whistle pierced through the cacophony then, and Mr. Coulson jumped into the fray, successfully removing Steve from Rumlow by the back of his jacket. 

“All right, show’s over!” he told the crowd. Some groaned, most started to chatter amongst themselves. They dispersed and left Bucky standing there, awkward. 

Coulson looked from Rumlow on the ground, to Steve, then to Bucky. 

“You know about this?” He asked.

Wide-eyed and heart hammering, Bucky nodded. 

Coulson sighed, hung his head, and said, “You take Steve and I’ll grab Brock. We’re going to the dean.”

 

* * *

 

Steve had never gone this long without meeting a given school’s dean of students. Many kids his age never had to formally meet with a dean at any point in their academic careers, but Steve… when three months was your personal best, it could be a little disconcerting for authority figures. 

Mr. Fury was unlike any dean that Steve had ever met. They were usually pencilpushers, like most administrative staff; Fury dressed in all black, had a patch over his eye, and had a look about him that a lot of his dad’s vet friends had.

Maybe that was why Steve felt so bad for beating the shit out of someone who deserved so much worse. It wasn’t that what he’d done was  _ wrong _ , but that he’d managed to piss off a guy whose entire face read,  _ I’ve seen some shit, white boy _ . 

“Now,” Fury sat back in his chair, “I’m gonna ask you again: why attack him at all?” 

Steve shrugged, but sat up as straight as his adrenaline-soaked body would allow. 

“I get he’s annoying,” Fury continued, “And what he said wasn’t even clever--”

“Right?” Steve concurred, then bit his lips shut when Fury stared him down. 

“You’re not an animal, Rogers,” said Fury. “I know you know better than to haul off on the first person that makes you mad.” 

Steve shifted. He could have told Fury, sure. He could tell him about what happened to Bucky, how these fucking shitwits somehow still thought they could keep hurting Bucky for no reason other than to make themselves feel better. It was bullshit. 

Steve could have told Fury, but it wasn’t his story to tell. He wouldn’t do that to Bucky. 

“I don’t know what happened, sir,” Steve shrugged again. “I lost control.” 

“Damn it, you don’t just  _ lose control _ !” Fury shouted, sending Steve all the way back in his chair. “You’re nearly a grown man. I assume you don’t think you’re just gonna go off starting fights in college or your career later in life.” 

To keep his tongue in his head, Steve stared straight ahead and pressed his left thumb into the shredded skin on his knuckles (courtesy of Brock Rumlow’s teeth, thank you very much). It didn’t hurt as much as it redirected his focus… and okay, maybe it hurt a little bit, but Steve kind of liked it. He was hurting because he’d cracked at least a couple places on Rumlow’s face, and that felt incredible. 

“Oh, for--Rogers, why didn’t you tell me your hand was messed up?” Fury asked. 

Steve shrugged again, then replied, “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to cop out of my punishment, sir.” 

Fury narrowed his eye, studying Steve for a good long moment before he sighed and told him, “Go have them take a look at it in the nurse’s office, then come back when you’re done and we’ll discuss your suspension.”

Steve shut his eyes, but stood and exited without argument. He’d promised dad that this year would be different, that he was more mature, that he didn’t want to stir up fights anymore because  _ that wasn’t how adults handled themselves. _

The school could only afford a nurse three out of the five days of school in a given week. If anything ever happened on a Tuesday or a Thursday, you were pretty much SOL if you needed anything more than an ice pack. 

So, Steve kept his thoughts to himself as one of the admin assistants from the front office directed him to wash his hand off before she gave him an ice pack. The ice pack in question was nothing but a frozen paper towel in a plastic baggie, but Steve supposed it was better than nothing. 

He didn’t go back into Fury’s office right away. Instead he took a seat on the bench outside Fury’s door, put his head between his knees, and took a deep breath. He could hear dad’s lecture brewing all the way from here, could practically see the disappointed look on mom’s face because he  _ promised _ her that he’d stop fighting.

_ I won’t be around to protect you forever. _

And she was right. He had no lifeline to speak of now, no one coming in and telling Fury not to expel him or call the police for attempted murder. Dad was a sink-or-swim kind of guy, more compassionate than a lot of fathers but still a military man. There were rules to follow, standards, values to uphold, and if you didn’t face your punishment then who’s to say you won’t fuck up again? 

Steve pushed the ice pack into his knuckles and smiled at the blunt, deep pain that shot up his arm. 

He’d beat Brock Rumlow to shit again and again if he could. 

Fury’s door opened, and Steve’s stomach made the anxious plummet into his butt. He’d gladly beat Rumlow again, but also he really didn’t need an expulsion on his--

“Bucky?” 

Looking past Fury, Steve could see Bucky sitting at one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

“Mr. Barnes was just giving me an eyewitness account,” Fury said and stepped aside, “Come on in, Mr. Rogers.” 

Steve swallowed and, holding his ice pack in his hand, made his way over to the chair beside Bucky’s. 

Fury shut the door and sat back behind his desk. 

“Now, care to continue?” Fury looked pointedly at Bucky. 

Bucky glanced at Steve out of the corner of his eye. He was shaken, but not an erratic ball of anxiety like Steve half expected him to be. Nope, he breezed through the story (albeit a condensed version) like it was nothing, and when he finished, Fury’s one eye had gone about as wide as it could go. 

“Son, did you tell your coach about this?” he asked. 

Bucky nodded. 

“Coach Pierce told me I didn’t know what I was talking about,” he said, “and if it really happened he’d be appalled, but he knew it didn’t, and told me I should be ashamed of making something up like that.” 

Steve pushed so hard on his knuckles that not even the adrenaline could numb him to the fact that his hand was most definitely broken. 

“Rogers?” Fury asked. 

“I just got angrier somehow,” Steve spat. “Don’t mind me.” 

Fury sighed and hung his head. 

“Mr. Barnes, you and I have a lot to discuss,” he said, then looked back at Steve. “Mr. Rogers, in light of Mr. Barnes’ account, I’m altering your punishment. You’ll now be suspended for one week. You’re dismissed for the rest of the day; we’ll see you back on the 15th, bright and early.” 

Steve glanced at Bucky. 

Bucky winked back.

“Uhm, out of curiosity--”

“Expulsion,” Fury replied. “That’s generally what I do to hot-headed punks who think it’s okay to come onto my campus and beat their classmates into a trip to the emergency room. I’d be happy to administer the original punishment if that’s what you really want.” 

“No sir,” Steve shook his head and stood. “Thank you, sir.”

“Cut the military brat act and sign your damn forms,” Fury pushed the papers across the desk and handed Steve a pen. When Steve looped a sloppy left-handed signature, Fury added a tired, “And go get your hand looked at, for god’s sake.” 

“Yessir,” Steve nodded, then caught himself too late. “Sorry, si-- _ dude _ .” 

Fury narrowed his eye and Bucky put his face in his hands. 

“I--yeah,” Steve nodded and made a prompt exit. 

**oo**

First things first: never go to the ER if you can help it. 

Second: getting stitches on an already broken hand really sucked.

Third: if you have to go to the ER, don’t go to the hospital where your boyfriend’s mom works as an ER nurse. 

“Steven?” 

“Heeeeeey, Winnie!” 

Fourth: painkillers are great. 

Winnie stepped behind the privacy curtain and into Steve’s ‘room’. She wore pink scrub bottoms and Winnie the Pooh scrub tops and this look on her face she only got when one of her kids was in trouble. 

Heh, Winnie loved him like she loved Bucky and Becca. 

“Honey, what are you doing here in the middle of the day?” she asked. 

“I broke my hand,” Steve grinned and held up his hand just to show her how swollen and gory it looked. 

“I can see that,” Winnie replied as she walked over to the x-ray display. She took her glasses off the top of her head (secured around her neck by a chain, good god) and placed them over her eyes. “Fifth metacarpal?” She whipped her glasses off and stuck a hand on her hip. “Steven Rogers, who are you starting fights with now?” 

“Winnie, no,” Steve held up his other hand. “I have to explain you the thing.” 

“Oh, good lord,” she sighed and stuck her glasses back on her face. She logged into the computer beside Steve’s bed and scrolled through, clucking her tongue until she found, “Ah, well, there you go. They’ve got you on enough morphine to sedate a rhino. Why do they have you on such a high dosage?” 

This was more her asking herself than talking to Steve, but Steve answered anyway. 

“Because,” he began, “I was incredibly adig -- adigated? Adigated. No,  _ a-gi-tat-ed. _ There we go.” 

Winnie let out a low whistle. 

“But it was--” Steve stopped, trying to gather his thoughts. “He called your son Fuck-Me Barnes, Winnie.” 

Winnie paused and looked over the tops of her glasses. 

“Who did?” 

“Brock Rumlow,” Steve replied, knowing he made a face while doing so. “I fucking hate him.” 

Winnie took her glasses off again and adjusted the knot of hair on top of her head. The way she inched up on Steve like that…

“Are you gonna hit me?” he asked. If she loved him like a son, she definitely wouldn’t hesitate to pop him one upside the head like she sometimes did to Bucky and Becca. 

“No, I’m not,” Winnie shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to hit you, but, speaking as a mature, rational adult who is not only a medical professional but someone who loves you very much, you know I can’t condone this kind of behavior.” 

Aww… aww, man. That was a bummer. He knew it wasn’t the best decision he’d ever made, but he thought she’d at least be grateful. Now he’d just disappointed yet another parent. 

Except, two seconds later she wrapped her arms around Steve and hugged him close. 

“Violence is never the answer,” she continued, then squeezed him tighter. She muttered in his ear, “If you hadn’t, I would have. Fuck that degenerate little prick.” 

Steve snorted into her shoulder and held onto her nice and tight. 

“I love you,” he told her. “You made my favorite person in the world, but also I just really love you. I really love your son, too. Bucky… I just realized you only have one son and didn’t need me to specify.”

He looked up and gave Winnie a Cheshire Cat grin. 

“I like morphine,” he said. 

“Honey,” Winnie took his cheeks in her hands, “Everyone likes morphine. Just don’t make a habit out of it.” 

“But I like it,” Steve lamented, though it sounded more like a whine. 

“And I like that my son isn’t dating a drug addict,” Winnie told him. 

“Then I feel like I should tell you,” Steve smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Why didn’t he have any water? Wait, no, “I feel like I should tell you that Bucky and I smoke pot with Tony and Clint. A lot. Or, he does. No, wait! I do. He doesn’t. Ever. I don’t want him to get in trouble, don’t tell him I told you that.” 

Winnie, however, just rolled her eyes. 

“Please,” she shook her head, “Who  _ hasn’t _ smoked pot with a guy named Tony?” 

Steve ‘pfft’ed into a laugh and smacked down on the exam bed. An indeterminate amount of time passed before the curtains rustled, and Steve felt the temperature around him drop at least two degrees. 

“Uh-oh, daddy-o,” he muttered, then giggled. 

“Steven Grant Rogers, what in the hell -- oh,” dad paused, then cleared his throat, “Hello, Winnie.” 

“Joe, good to see you,” she said. 

A third body came into the room and told Winnie and dad both, “We’re ready to take him to orthopedics for his cast.” 

“Woo!” Steve pumped both of his arms up in the air, then spent a good minute and a half trying to hoist himself into a sitting position before dad took pity on him and helped him out. 

“Much obliged, sir,” Steve saluted and rose to his feet, “You’ve done me a great service on this day.” 

“Excuse me?” Dad’s face hardened. “How about an, ‘I’m sorry you had to leave work in the middle of the day because I got in a fight at school’?”

Ah, shit. 

“No, dad it wasn’t--”

“It wasn’t what?” Dad asked. “It wasn’t that you were fighting when you promised this would all stop? With your record, you’re lucky this damn school even took you, and now --”

“Joe!” Winnie cut in. Dad snapped to look at her, and she said, “He has to get his cast now. You can reprimand him later. In the meantime, why don’t you sit down, I’ll get you some -- have you eaten today?” 

Dad frowned at her.

“Don’t keep a Jewish mother waiting on a question like that, dad,” Steve told him.

Winnie, though slightly taken aback, arched a brow at Joe in silent challenge. 

Dad deflated and answered, “Not since breakfast this morning.”

“Then I’ll get you some juice,” Winnie decided. “We’ll get that blood sugar up, you’ll feel a lot better.” 

Grudgingly, dad took a seat on the chair beside the exam bed, all the while watching Steve like a hawk. 

Steve gave him a wave with his left hand, then followed the nurse to orthopedics for his cast. 

The cast technician was an older woman with a round belly and a jolly smile. She sat Steve down and asked, “So, what color do you want?”

“Blue,” Steve answered immediately, then thought, “No, red! Aw, man. Purple? That’s red and blue. I don’t know. What do you think?” 

“Honey, it’s gonna be on your arm for six weeks, not mine,” she said. 

Steve pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling. Six weeks was a long time… 

“I want blue,” he finally decided.

Steve let the technician take hold of his hand and start applying the base layer of the cast. 

“Y’know what sucks about this?” he asked.

“Tell me,” said the technician. 

“The thing is, Alice--can I call you Alice?” 

“That’s why I wear the nametag,” Alice pointed to the ID badge clipped onto her scrubs 

“See, Alice, I got this broken hand now, and I do so much stuff with my hand, so?” Steve let out a sigh. “I got a boyfriend. He’s real sweet. Kinda grumpy, but in that cute way, y’know?” 

“Do I ever,” Alice chuckled. 

“And I draw!” Steve just remembered. “Goddamn it, now I can’t draw, I can’t jerk off my boyfriend, I can’t jerk off  _ myself _ \--”

“Well, you’ve got another one, don’t you?” Alice asked. “And he’s got two, I’m assuming.”

“Kinda,” Steve said, watching intently as Alice removed the blue fiberglass wrap from its packaging. “He lost an arm because he was trying to get away from the guy who raped him.” 

Had Steve been in his right mind, he would have seen just how uncomfortable Alice was. As it turned out, Steve thought she just looked kind of worried. 

“It’s okay, though,” he placated. “I clobbered the guy into the next century, and you are wrapping up the evidence.” 

Alice looked from Steve to his hand and then back again. 

“No kidding,” she said. 

“Nobody hurts my Bucky,” Steve told her, then clarified, “My boyfriend’s name is Bucky. He’s cute.” 

Needless to say, Alice was more than happy to steer Steve back to his area in the ER. 

“Morphine, huh?” she asked Winnie, who sat close to dad. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Winnie nodded. 

“Yeah, kid’s got a wacky tolerance,” dad said and stood. “Well, Winnie took care of your paperwork, Steve, so I guess it’s time for us to go.” 

“Oh,” Steve nodded, “Okay. Can I say bye to Winnie?” 

Dad stepped aside so Steve could wrap his arms around Winnie. 

“I love you,” he said. 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek, then swiped at the spot. “Sorry, I’m guessing you don’t want chapstick on your cheek.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve reassured, “I’ve had lipstick on my dick before--”

“Okay!” dad exclaimed and grabbed Steve by both of his shoulders. “You’re ready to go home.” 

Steve didn’t think he had to make such a big deal out of it. So he’d gotten a blowjob before. Moreover, he’d gotten a blowjob from Peggy Carter, who was smart and beautiful. 

As soon as they were in dad’s car and on their way home, dad turned down the radio. 

“Uh-oh,” Steve muttered. “Dad talk.” 

“I won’t lie,” dad said. “When the school called, I was pissed. I’m still pissed, actually, but…” 

He sighed. 

“I don’t like this,” Steve said. “You’re not yelling at me.”

“Winnie told me what happened,” dad told him. “So as much as I’d like to read you the riot act, I don’t feel it’s appropriate in this specific instance. You… you’ve always had an innate sense of justice, and I’ve always appreciated that. I never had to tell you right from wrong, and I guess I got your mom to thank for that. She had that too. You’ve got a lot of her good qualities, Steve.”

Steve sobered a little, his hand throbbing harder than it had since he’d gotten the morphine. 

“Unfortunately, you got my temper, and when you combine the two,” dad sighed. “You end up getting a kid who does the right thing in the wrong way sometimes.” 

“He  _ raped _ Bucky, dad,” Steve said. “And he called him--”

“Fuck-Me Barnes, I know,” dad put up a hand. “You can’t go beating people like that.” 

“I’d do it again,” Steve muttered. 

“And that’s what scares me,” dad said. 

Steve looked at his dad with a calculating stare. 

“I scare you?” he asked.

“Every fucking day,” dad nodded. “You’re my only kid. When your mom died, I told her I’d keep you as safe as I could. She’s the one who told me that you’d do what you’d do, and there was no way I could really keep you safe. It’s just -- we didn’t even know that you’d make it past your first birthday, and ever since then I’ve thanked god that I get another day with you. I don’t say it a lot, but I’m proud of the man you’re becoming. Your questionable judgment aside, the world would be a little better if more people thought like you do.”

Silence fell between them. If Steve wasn’t still drugged up, he’d probably be crying. 

“Tissues are in the glove compartment,” said dad. 

Oh. 

So he was crying. 

“Thanks, dad,” Steve cleared his throat. “That means a lot. I’m, uh. I don’t thank you enough, or tell you how good of a dad you are enough, but I think both of those things a lot. And that’s not just the morphine talking. I mean, it’s a little the morphine talking, but it’s not saying anything I don’t already think.” 

At the next stoplight, dad reached over and squeezed Steve’s shoulder, “Thanks, son.”

 

* * *

 

For as good as he’d felt this morning, Bucky was back to feeling like shit. Not in the same shitty way he had before, but in that ‘I’m way too tired for this bullshit’ way. Ignoring the problem had been exhausting in its own right, but goddamn, addressing it was a whole new exhaustion entirely. 

Fury told him not to worry about anything, that he would get to the bottom of things and justice would be served. Personally, Bucky would have preferred being served a whole pizza and a nap, but apparently that was not in the cards. 

At lunchtime, Nat cornered him and asked, “Is Rumlow the one who did it?” 

Somehow, he knew exactly what she’d meant. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “And, since we’re sharing, he’s also the reason I’m down a real human arm. That’s what happens when you try to get away from a psychopath when he’s balls deep in you, I guess.” 

Something behind Nat’s eyes had gone dark, cold. She said, “Thank you James, that will be all.” 

Bucky decided that he didn’t want to know what was going on up in that brain of hers, and elected instead to find a section of stairwell where he could just shut his eyes for a while. He couldn’t even go home after school -- or, he could, rather, but wouldn’t. Not until he knew Steve was okay. 

God, Steve was an idiot. 

A very loyal, thoughtful, if slightly homicidal, idiot. 

At the end of the day, Bucky found Tony, Bruce, and Thor waiting for him at his locker. 

“Clint and Natasha said to meet them a block over,” Tony said. 

“For what?” Bucky asked. 

“To go see Steve,” Bruce said. “That was…” He let out a whistle. “Not gonna lie, kind of a turn on seeing him get all ragey like that.” 

Tony hummed an unmistakable,  _ amen _ . 

“Glad you two get turned on at the thought of my boyfriend engaged in physical violence,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Super cool.”

“You could fill a book with the weird shit that turns me on,” Bruce said. “One of the benefits of being on the spectrum: my turn ons are few and strange.” 

“It’s true,” Tony said. “Last time I saw him this DTF, he was when he heard about the Cosmos reboot. He could watch hours of porn and be soft as a jellyfish, but get Degrasse Tyson ranting about evolution as scientific fact…” 

“Stop, you’ll get me going again,” Bruce muttered. 

Bucky shared a look with Thor, who informed him, “I was told we would be going to check on Steve, not getting insight into their strange sex life.” 

Tony cuffed Thor on the bicep and gave him a wink. 

“You’re welcome to join us anytime, big guy.” 

“I do not consent to that,” Bruce said. “Nothing against you, Thor, it’s more… everything else.” 

“It’s okay,” Thor reassured him, “I do not consent to that either.” 

“Okay, are we going to stand here talking about weird threesomes or are we going to go meet Nat and Clint, which, why are they a block away?” 

Tony shrugged, “I’m not a mind reader, Jesus.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. 

He grabbed what he’d need for his homework that night, then followed Tony, Bruce and Thor out of the school building and over a block where, sure enough, Natasha and Clint sat in the van, waiting. 

“Hey, guys,” Bucky greeted as they all piled in. 

“Hey, buddy,” Clint turned to give him a smile. “How ya holding up?” 

Bucky shrugged, “Not me that got his face caved in.” 

He couldn’t help his smile as the memory of Steve’s hand covered in Brock Rumlow’s blood slid back into his mind. 

The ride to Steve’s wasn’t long, but Bucky hadn’t seen him since Fury’s office this morning. It seemed a moot point to text him, since Steve was crap at answering texts on his best days, and it left Bucky antsy as hell. 

The look on Joe Rogers’ face when he opened the door to six teenagers of varying size was a sight to behold, however. 

“Hey, Bucky,” Joe greeted, “And hey… everyone else.” 

“Hi,” Bucky said back. “These are Steve’s and my friends. We wanted to come check on him.” 

Joe was a smart man, so Bucky wasn’t all that surprised by his trepidation at letting in such a ragtag group of misfits. Steve was enough to handle when he was tame. 

“Come on in,” Joe finally said, “But only for a few minutes, okay? He’s gotta get some rest.” 

“No problem, Mr. Rogers,” Clint chirped in that chipper way of his. “We understand. I’m Clint, by the way.”

He stuck out his hand and Joe shook it. 

“You’re friendly,” he observed. 

“Thank you,” Clint beamed. 

“Suck up,” Bucky muttered. 

One by one, the group introduced themselves, then followed Joe back to Steve’s room. Steve was sprawled out on his bed with his laptop on his thighs. The voice coming out of his speakers told Bucky that he was right in the middle of talking to Peggy. 

“Steve,” Joe knocked on the doorjamb. “You got company.” 

Steve looked up and all of a sudden lit up like the fourth of freaking July. 

“My friends are here!” he exclaimed. “Peg, I gotta go, my other friends came to see me.” 

“All right, well call me later,” she said, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

Steve gave her a grin and said, “Careful, my boyfriend’s here now.” 

“I meant I’m not done reprimanding you, you dolt,” Peggy shot back. “But I love you and I’m happy you’re okay.” 

Steve smacked a big kiss at the screen and shut his laptop. 

“Good god,” Joe muttered. “You guys got twenty minutes. Have at it.” 

Bucky was the first to cross the room and sit on Steve’s bed. 

“Buck!” Steve grinned. “And everyone! Hi!” 

“Wow,” Tony laughed, “Drugged up much?” 

“Morphine,” Steve winked and snapped his fingers into guns, “It’s what’s for dinner.”

“Ring-ring, ring-ring,” Tony held up an imaginary phone to his ear, “Hey, 1993? Yeah, I found your missing ad campaign.” 

Steve giggled and hid his face in Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Guys, Bucky saved me,” he said. “He was going to expel me, but Bucky came in and saved me.” 

“Who was going to expel you?” Clint asked as Bruce plucked up Steve’s prescription bottle off of the beside table. 

“Vicodin, huh?” Bruce asked. 

“They wouldn’t let me take morphine home,” Steve pouted. “Which is a shame because it’s really good.” 

“Well, you’re in for a wild next few days, that’s for sure,” said Bruce. 

“Thanks Dr. Banner,” Tony rolled his eyes. 

Bucky would have chuckled if at that second Steve didn’t start massaging his hand into Bucky’s chest. 

“Uh, Steve?” Bucky looked from the hand to Steve’s face. 

“I have to use my other hand because I broke the real one,” Steve held up his left hand, which was bare. “See?” 

“Uh, babe,” Bucky put his hand down, “Wrong one. You broke the right one.”

Steve looked at both of his hands, staring them down like they committed some sort of crime they wouldn’t admit to. 

“Wait, what?” He turned a terrified look on Bucky. 

“Never mind, you’re okay,” Bucky told him. 

“And you’re super fucking hot,” Steve giggled back and slung his left arm over Bucky’s shoulders. He looked at everyone else, “Isn’t he hot?” 

“Babe,” Bucky tried to stop him again. 

Clint had his phone out, grinning like a moron as he recorded this for posterity. 

“Nat’s pretty too,” Steve sighed, “And so’z Clint. And Thor, and Bruce, and even Tony.”

“Wow, thanks,” Tony flipped him off. 

“Okay, but hear me out,” Steve not-whispered in Bucky’s ear, “Threesome. Or foursome. Fivesome? Wait, what’s the one for seven?” 

“I think that’s just called an orgy,” said Bruce. 

“You guys didn’t have to come,” Steve beamed, “You’re all good friends.” 

Natasha took off her backpack and rummaged for a moment before she retrieved the wrapped gift from Clint that Steve hadn’t opened that morning. 

“You forgot this,” she said, then took her phone out of her pocket, “And Bucky, I feel bad I didn’t get you anything for Hanukkah, but I did manage to find something I could do last minute.”

She flipped to her pictures and handed Bucky the phone. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky’s eyes went wide. 

The jagged words  _ Rapist Piece of Shit _ were carved into the sides and hood of Brock Rumlow’s black Jeep, with a smaller  _ ‘Have a Nice Day’  _ etched into the back. 

“Nat!” Bucky exclaimed as Steve started to giggle. 

“Well, he is,” she shrugged. 

“And I helped,” Clint grinned. 

“Guys, you could get in serious trouble for this,” Bucky told them. 

“Do I look like the kind of person who doesn’t assess the risks before she does something?” Natasha asked. “I know we could get in trouble, but Brock Rumlow is a piece of shit rapist and everyone needs to know.”

“Goddamn, Romanoff,” Tony marvelled. “You’ve got balls.” 

“Ovaries, but thank you,” Nat corrected. 

Steve had nearly gotten expelled because of all this. Nat and Clint put their asses on the line for some good ol’ fashioned vandalism. 

“Guys,” Bucky muttered again. 

“Trust me, he hasn’t even seen trouble yet,” Tony laughed. “You fuck with one of us, you fuck with all of us. It’s like being in the mob.” 

Bucky looked at each and every one of his friends, all ready to jump in and defend him at the drop of a hat. 

“Okay, I’m opening my present,” Steve declared and ripped into the paper. 

He pulled out a long, thick red white and blue wool scarf and matching hat. 

“Dude!” Steve exclaimed. 

“I’m really tired of you bitching about how cold you are,” Clint said. “Nut up or shut up.” 

Steve and Bucky shared a look, each of them overwhelmed by the odd brand of love in the room. 

“Thanks, Clint,” Steve smiled, “You’re the first dick I suck in the orgy. Sorry Bucky.” 

Clint pumped both hands in the air with a triumphant,  _ “yes!” _

“I--” Bucky began, but Nat lifted a hand. 

“Shut up,” she said. “Just take it for what it is.” 

Bucky and Steve both smiled and nodded, “Yes, ma’am.” 


	11. Chapter 11

Everyone thought he’d made the mafia comment in passing, but he hadn’t. 

_ He hadn’t.  _

Tony Stark wouldn’t lay down his life for a friend in need -- too noble, if you ask him -- but he would make sure anyone who brought harm to his friends got their comeuppance.

Tony Stark didn’t believe in karma, but he sure as shit believed in himself. 

After going to see Steve, Bruce had come back home with Tony. They’d tried to act like everything was normal, to fall into their routine of smoking pot and ambling through their homework, but it wasn’t happening. Bruce wound up passed out on Tony’s bed at an unreasonably early hour while Tony had to occupy himself elsewhere. 

It was times like then that Tony needed to do something useful.

Which was why (in a roundabout way), Tony found himself breaking into Brock Rumlow’s locker at six-thirty in the morning with a module, some Gorilla Glue, and a dream. The installation was simple enough, at least, and the mechanism itself so elementary that Tony didn’t even feel like he needed to do a test run. All the better, since Bruce “you’re-on-your-own” Banner was the only person around to stand watch.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” 

Tony yelped, slamming the locker shut in a fit of panic. Pepper Potts stood beside them, long arms folded across her chest as her foot tapped insistently against the scuffed linoleum. Man, was it possible to have a Hall Monitor kink? Because Pepper’s penal code vibe was doing a lot of favors for Tony at the moment. 

She cleared her throat, at which Bruce replied, “Don’t look at me, I just do what he does.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” Pepper said, her face still stoic. 

“Yeah, but it sounded good,” Bruce shrugged, only to realize, “It didn’t actually, did it?” 

Pepper shook her head, then turned her bird of prey stare on Tony. 

“Do I have to ask you again?” she raised her eyebrows.

“No,” Tony told her mildly.  

He turned and wriggled the locker open again, going through the numbers with ease this time, given that he knew what they were now. He lifted the metal handle and swung the door open, relishing in the way Pepper’s eyes grew as the music hit her ears. 

“What is that?”she asked. 

“It’s called ‘You’re the Jerk of the Week’,” Tony explained.

“No, I mean what actually is that?” Pepper pointed at the module itself. 

“Oh,” Tony glanced back at it. “It’s the same basic principle as the singing greeting card.” 

He demonstrated by pulling the door open and shut a few times, each opening belting out the first few beats of the song. 

Pepper stared at the module, “Wait, so whose locker is that?” 

“Brock Rumlow’s,” Tony actually couldn’t believe he had to tell her, “Since, y’know…”

Pepper rolled her eyes, “Okay, just because you’ve never liked him--”

“Hey!” Tony snapped, “It’s totally fucking legitimate now, all right? You know what he did.”

“No, I don’t, but I’m sure whatever inane reason you have for rigging his locker is completely  _ fucking legitimate _ ,” Pepper parrotted. 

“Nah, it’s real this time,” Bruce (fucking finally) chimed in. Even he looked a little perturbed by the fact that she obviously hadn’t heard, “Rumlow full on sexually assaulted Bucky Barnes.” 

Pepper’s eyes went buggy. 

“ _ What _ ?” 

“Scout’s honor,” Tony raised a hand. 

“You were never a scout,” Bruce rolled his eyes this time. 

“Whatever,” Tony shook them both off. “The point is, I  _ wanted _ to rig this dickhole’s locker to explode when he opened it, but Bruce rightly pointed out that that would have actually counted as weaponizing his locker and I’m not prepared to go to jail for that shit. Look at me, Pepps, I’m like a prisoner’s walking wet dream. Smooth, handsome, small enough to throw around--”

Bruce coughed, then gave him a warning shake of his head and a stern look. 

Pepper, on the other hand, had something on her face that Tony couldn’t quite place. He’d never been good at placing a lot of her faces, though. 

“So,” she began, narrowing her eyes, “You decided to rig his locker to play this stupid song.”

“Well, yeah,” Tony folded his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling a little exposed, “Barnes is my friend.”

“ _ Our _ friend,” Bruce reminded him, so Tony nodded and corrected to, “Our friend.”

Pepper’s face remained unreadable. Tony made a mental note to ask Bruce about it later. 

“Really, I don’t think this is even a hundredth of the punishment he deserves,” Tony defended himself. “But Steve Rogers already delivered a fucking smackdown to end all smackdowns, so I think what we’re doing is pretty benign comparatively.”

“Okay yeah,” Bruce nodded, pondering, “But if you’re going to say something’s not bad in  _ comparison  _ \--”

“Hang on,” Pepper held up her hand. “Steve did what now?” 

“Beat Brock Rumlow to shit,” said Bruce, “Got suspended and everything.” 

Pepper’s eyes fluttered shut and she pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“I know, right?” Tony let out a ‘pfft’ of air and leaned against the lockers. “Can you say ‘showboat’?” 

Bruce hummed his agreement. 

“I don’t think our method of revenge should be held to the same standard is all I’m saying,” Tony said, concluding his argument. 

Footsteps tapped through the deserted hallway, at the end of which a girl stopped and waved her arms. 

“Pepper!” she called. “What are you doing? We’re starting our meeting.”

“Crap,” Pepper muttered, then turned to call, “Okay, I’ll be right there!” 

She turned back to Tony and Bruce, that unreadable look back on her face, and said, “I have to go. I’m not done hearing about this Rumlow thing, so I’ll talk to you two later?” 

Tony could have sworn his pacemaker malfunctioned, because did Pepper Potts really just give him a ‘talk to you later’? The last time he’d been this close to her, she’d decked him and he’d gone right down like a sack of potatoes. Now she wanted to talk to him? Willingly? Sure, not about anything that had to do with either of them, but trading school gossip was a step up from where they were, right?

Bruce was the one who ended up huffing and having to say, “Yeah, we’ll see you fourth period.” 

By the time Pepper had cleared the hall, Tony was up to his ears in the memory of The Greatest Night Ever. He was a red-blooded American boy, all right? And Pepper was fucking gorgeous and she’d actually had an extended lapse in judgement that enabled her to stomach dating Tony. Even better, she’d let him touch places he’d always wanted to touch on a girl --

“Yo!” 

“Yeah!” Tony jumped, startled by Bruce’s voice. “What’s going on, what are we doing?” 

“Apparently we’re taking inventory of your spank bank,” Bruce shot back. 

“Oh, come on!” Tony flapped his hands at his side. “You know she’s as far out of my league as they come, no pun intended.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. 

“Like you wouldn’t be stoked if you’d had sex with Pepper Potts,” said Tony. 

“Yeah, is there a part of this whole ‘asexuality’ thing you people really aren’t getting?” Bruce asked, his voice tight in that way that made Tony’s spine run cold with chills. 

“Honestly, probably the part where you are sexually attracted to and have sex with me,” Tony replied.

“It’s called gray asexual,” Bruce explained for, admittedly, the ninth or tenth time. “And I’m not sex-repulsed, I just don’t care about it enough to actually seek it from people I don’t like.” 

“Aw, you like me,” Tony teased and shoved at Bruce’s shoulder with his own. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Bruce pulled away just as quickly and took off in the direction opposite Pepper and her student council pal. 

Tony followed behind Bruce, taking only a few steps to catch up with him and grab his sleeve. 

“Come on, you know I’m giving you shit,” he couldn’t hold back his laugh, because Bruce was getting that angry badger look on his face and, honestly, it made Tony’s day. 

Bruce’s scowl didn’t let up, though, and so Tony had to try a different approach. He went from holding onto Bruce’s sleeve to slinging an arm across his shoulders. 

“Suck you off in the bathroom upstairs?” he offered. “It’s dead up there this early.” 

“No, Tony, I don’t want you to suck my dick in the school bathroom,” Bruce repeated. 

“Wow, you really know how to set the mood,” Tony snarked back. 

Bruce just huffed again, actually chuckling this time, “I’m going insane, right? I swear to god, if I have to say ‘asexual’ one more time--”

“Fine, yeesh,” Tony tucked his hands into his sweater pockets. “You are grumpy as fuck this morning.” 

Bruce sighed and stopped walking. Before he could say anything, he took a breath, put his face in his hands, and stood in silent thought. Then he lifted his head and decided, “I’m gonna go read up in the library. I’ll see you in class.” 

And just like that, Tony was alone.

 

* * *

 

Thor narrowed his eyes in (what Bruce found to be) a most displeasing manner and concluded, “I’m not sure I believe you.” 

“Believe whatever the hell you want,” Bruce told him, too busy fitting rubber gloves over his hands to be well and truly irritated. Thor had known him how long exactly? What could he possibly know? All Bruce had asked him to do was let him into the locker room; he hadn’t asked him to hang around while he wreaked his own brand of havoc. 

Tony built things. 

Bruce harnessed the power of the natural world. 

“Here it is,” he pulled an old prescription bottle from his backpack and showed Thor. 

“Here is what?” Thor asked, just as perplexed as he was before, and accepted the bottle when presented with it. 

“Rose hips,” Bruce began. “You slice ‘em open and there’s these little hairs inside. They’re so small that they’re actually an irritant when they come into contact with skin. Hence, gloves.”

“I see,” Thor nodded. “And you’re doing what with it exactly?”

“Well,” Bruce took off his glasses and swiped the end of his t-shirt over the lenses. “I’m thinking Brock Rumlow has both a jockstrap and skin that has to come in contact with it… Ever been on the wrong side of itching powder? Not fun.”

Thor arched an eyebrow, “Have you ever been on the wrong side of itching powder?” 

“I’ve been friends with Tony for a long time,” Bruce took the bottle back, “I’ve been on the wrong side of pretty much everything.”

“Including a love triangle?” 

Bruce’s face fell. Thor’s smirk was actually infuriating. 

“A triangle would imply that each side touches the other two,” Bruce told him.

“I am aware of the properties of a triangle,” Thor folded his cartoonishly large Popeye arms across his chest. “I am also aware of the fact that you care very deeply for Tony and probably didn’t like seeing him so engaged with Pepper.” 

“I told you,” Bruce stuck up his hands, done with the whole thing, “Believe whatever the hell you want.” 

Why? Why had he confided in Thor? Bruce never confided in anyone, except Tony. And maybe Steve. Steve was good at weaseling information out of people, it seemed, and now Bruce knew that Thor was good at the very same thing. 

Why couldn’t they just be assholes like every other guy who was built like a brick shithouse? 

“It’s not a big deal,” Bruce said then. “It’s completely illogical and I just gotta tell my brain to get over itself.” 

“It doesn’t sound like a matter of brains to me,” Thor replied, “More so a matter of the heart.”

“That’s bullshit,” Bruce shook his head outright. “I don’t have matters of the heart. You need a heart for that. Now, where’s Rumlow’s locker?”

“You have a heart,” Thor ignored Bruce’s question. “You wouldn’t be so upset about Tony if you didn’t.” 

“I’m not upset!” Bruce snapped, ire bubbling under his skin. “I’m pissed off because I want get this over with so I don’t get caught shaking itching powder onto Rumlow’s clothes.” 

“Are you sure?” Thor’s smirk still simmered, “Because it looks to me like you’re upset.” 

Before he could stop himself, Bruce’s hand went sailing backward into one of the lockers, concluding Thor’s teasing with a soul-crushing  _ slam! _

He took a breath.

He counted not to ten, but in prime numbers (which had been Tony’s idea initially) until his nerves soothed and he could speak again. 

Thor was nowhere to be seen. 

“Wait, where are you?” Bruce called, then started peering down the rows of lockers. “I’m sorry, I get like that sometimes. I’m trying not to--”

Thor stood in front of a locker in the third row, and upon seeing Bruce said, “This is Brock’s locker.”

“Oh,” Bruce’s shoulders went loose. “Thanks. I’m sorry, again. It’s not you.”

“I’m aware,” Thor sat on the bench as Bruce approached the locker. Tony was much better at cracking these things than he was, but hell if Bruce was ready to talk to Tony yet. 

Ugh, he did care, didn’t he?

“My brother is,” Thor paused, searching for the right words. 

“Temperamental?” Bruce offered, “That’s one of my favorites.”

“Mm,” Thor pursed his lips, still searching, “I’d say he’s more along the lines of a whiny pissbaby, but you’re right; ‘temperamental’ sounds much better and will likely not upset my mother as much as ‘whiny pissbaby’ does.”

Bruce snorted, “No, I guess not.” 

“I apologize for antagonizing you,” Thor said then. “It wasn’t-- no, it  _ was _ my intention, but it was all meant to be in good fun.”

The locker handle finally gave and Bruce swung it open. This triumph on top of Thor’s apology had him beaming, and when they saw the inside door of the locker…

“Wow,” Thor’s eyebrows went up. Among the calendars and game schedules were a slew of stickers that said things like,  _ #Meninist  _ and  _ Piss off a Liberal. Buy a Gun _ . 

“Just when I thought I couldn’t hate this guy anymore,” Bruce shook his head. He twisted the cap off of the powder, careful to keep the bottle away from his eyes or his shirt sleeves, and shook a small amount into his hand. He took care to coat the insides of not just the jockstrap, but the insides of the uniform too. 

“He is not gonna be happy the next time he puts this on,” Bruce couldn’t keep the utter giddiness out of his voice. “What a schmuck.”

“Indeed,” Thor agreed, then looked to Bruce. “What do you think the repercussions of urinating inside his locker would be?” 

“If I’m being honest? Not good,” Bruce stuck his hands in his pockets. “They can always DNA test urine. Though I suppose they could dust for prints on his regular locker too, since That Fucking Dipshit put his grubby hands all over that thing this morning.”

“Mm, that is a shame,” Thor let out a sigh and stood. He pulled a Sharpie out of his pocket and asked before shutting the locker, “Are you finished?”

“I am,” Bruce nodded. 

Thor had to bend to write, in big block letters,  _ “#RAPISTPIECEOFSHIT” _

Bruce let out a laugh as Thor stood back to admire his work. 

“Yes, I do believe so,” Thor declared, proud. “I thought about writing something else, but I believe Natasha said it best. Why tamper with perfection?” 

“Right on,” Bruce nodded and slapped a hand to Thor’s back. “Our work here is done.” 

They snuck out of the locker room just as quietly as they’d snuck in. Thor, for as big as he was and as loud as he was, actually seemed to notice a lot more than people assumed. Definitely more than Bruce had assumed, anyway. He was tactical, though, knew where a coach would be and when, and knew how to evade the few prying eyes of both the athletics department and their athletes. 

Bruce never thought he’d live to see the day when he was actually glad to be on a football player’s good side--perhaps, even, to be a football player’s friend. 

“Thanks, man,” Bruce said once they were back in the main building. 

“I’m always delighted to aid in matters of revenge,” Thor turned a million-watt smile on him. “And I’m always more than happy to spend time with friends. That is what we are, yes?” 

Bruce smiled and gave a single nod, “Yeah, man.” 

“Excellent,” Thor clapped one of his bear paws against Bruce’s shoulder and squeezed, “If ever you find yourself in need of a friendly ear, you can always come to me. Especially if you find you can’t talk to Tony about something.”

Bruce sighed. Man, he’d been feeling so good, too. 

“Thor, what I told you earlier,” Bruce ran his fingers through his hair, happy he’d remembered to dispose of the rubber gloves before entering the building. “I was overreacting, all right? I’m fine now. Tony and I aren’t… anything but friends, okay? And that’s the way I want it. And apparently that’s the way he wants it.” 

“You know, you could take out a lot of the guesswork and assumption if you had an honest conversation with him,” Thor said. 

“But I don’t care that he wants to be with Pepper,” Bruce insisted again, realizing that it would never sound as true as he meant it to sound. “Thor, really. I’m barely interested in sex and in no way interested in romantic entanglements, okay? I’m better as a lone wolf in the long run.” 

Thor narrowed his eyes again in that most displeasing manner, “Then explain to me why you’ve found and stuck with a pack for so many months now.” 

“Hey, that was not my fault,” Bruce insisted. “The group just kinda sprung up around me.” 

Thor chuckled. 

“You know, just because you don’t actively desire something does not mean that you can’t like it when you have it,” he said. “Whether it’s a friendship or a sexual or romantic relationship, or--”

“An understanding,” Bruce interjected. 

“Fine, call it what you will,” Thor stuck up his hands. “My point is: don’t deny yourself something that makes you happy just because you didn’t actively seek it. Everyone deserves happiness, my friend. Even you.” 

With another squeeze to his shoulder, Thor bid Bruce a farewell and disappeared into the stairwell. 

Bruce sighed, resigned. 

Man, he hated having friends.

 

* * *

 

It took until the next morning for the harsh reality of Steve’s suspension to hit Bucky. He woke up in his bed, in his home, with sleep crusting the corners of his eyes and pillow marks streaking his cheek, and still Bucky felt like he hadn’t slept a wink.

Joe hadn’t booted him out with everyone else, let Bucky stay until his mom could pick him up after her shift. Bucky had thought very seriously about telling everyone to go fuck themselves, that Steve needed him there, but Joe really had been right: more than anything, Steve needed rest. And he would be getting rest for the next week because what else was there to do when you got suspended from school?

Now, sitting up in the dark wintery chill of his freaking depression den, Bucky had to face reality. He had to go to school. School was going to fucking suck without Steve there with him, especially since Bucky was tired of explaining. ‘Explaining what?’ you might ask, to which Bucky would simply reply, ‘Yes.’

Bucky was just tired of explaining-- not only the fight, which he’d only had to explain for half yesterday, but  _ everything. _ His arm, his hair, why he quit baseball, why he couldn’t just get up and  _ live _ already. Why the fuck did everything need an explanation now? He never needed one when he was picking up girls or playing baseball. Back then, people would’ve let him get away with murder. 

Or, y’know… sexual assault. 

Bile climbed high in Bucky’s throat, sending him running up the stairs. His stomach churned like the building’s ancient washing machine, twisting and twisting his insides until everything was one huge knot. He wasn’t going to make it to the bathroom, was he?  _ Fuckfuckfuck _ \--

He busted into the bathroom and flung himself as close to the toilet as he could get, which meant he ended up barfing up a whole lot of what had to be freaking toxic waste into the sink. 

“Bucky, what the shit!” 

Over the heartbeat in his ears, he could hear now that the shower was running and… yeah, that was Becca’s soap he smelled. 

“Sorry,” he groaned.

She popped her head out from behind the opaque shower curtain and narrowed her eyes. Though soaking wet, her curls remained in tact, coiling out of her head, and Bucky managed to quip, “What up, Medusa?” 

Her sharp features twisted into a scowl and she shouted, “Mom! Bucky’s in here while I’m showering!” 

No hesitation, just a stern “James!” came from the other room.

“I threw up!” Bucky yelled back. “Man alive, you’d think a guy could blow chunks around here without getting the fucking third degree?” 

“You what!?” Mom yelled as Becca asked, “Who’s ‘chunks’?” and frowned. 

“Ha-ha,” Bucky raised his middle finger as mom appeared in the doorway. 

“Rebecca, you’d better not be wasting water,” she warned. 

“Well, get Bucky out of here and I’ll stop!” Becca argued. 

Bucky found himself being dragged out to the kitchen before he could really register what was happening. Oh boy, he did not feel well. 

“Mama,” he groaned as she deposited him at the dining table, “Mama, I think I’m sick.”

It was a cheap shot, but worth it if it paid off. 

But mom just rolled her eyes and told him, “Don’t ‘mama’ me.”

_ Damn _ . 

“Now shut up and sit there while I make you some toast,” mom instructed. As much as Bucky wanted to be indignant, tell his mom that he wasn’t a fucking baby anymore and he could make his own damn toast, he really didn’t want to get up and make toast for himself. 

He rested his head on the table and sighed. The surface was nice and cool, soothed the fire that burned up his face every time he remembered he had to go to school. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, at which point Bucky realized that he’d fallen asleep in his jeans again. Whoops. 

A message from Clint lit up the screen. 

_ ‘Need a ride?’ _

Without thinking twice, Bucky snorted and sent back,  _ ‘why, is your face free?’ _

At his snort, mom snatched his phone and read the exchange. 

The phone buzzed again, shit. 

Mom rolled her eyes and handed it back to him. 

_ ‘You got an open invitation to ride this face whenever you want, buddy. Do you need a ride to school or not?’ _

Another buzz.

_ ‘Assclown’ _

“I think you’ll be just fine today, sweetheart,” mom said in that not-nice tone that every mom had. 

Bucky frowned.

Then he pulled up a new message to Natasha.

_ ‘Didn’t really want to go to school today.’ _

The reply was almost instantaneous.

_ ‘That’s not surprising.’  _

_ ‘However, that does mean that you’ll just have to face everything tomorrow. Imo, you may as well just get it over with today. I’m no Steve Rogers, but if anyone gives you the business I do have four years of track and a lifetime of ballet and taekwondo under my belt.’  _

_ ‘My black belt, that is.’ _

A picture came through this time, a selfie of Natasha in her dark bedroom, sans makeup, obviously only awake because of Bucky’s text. She had tied a black martial arts belt around her forehead. 

With a full heart, Bucky smiled and flipped back to Clint’s message to reply.

_ ‘Yeah, a ride would be good. Thx’ _

_ ‘Groovy. Leaving in 10’ _

And then came a kissy face emoji to seal the deal. 

**oo**

School turned out to be kind of lackluster that day. Rumlow hadn’t shown up, which was understandable, but Bucky still kept a sharp lookout for Schmidt, just in case. Schmidt was at least smarter than Rumlow and would know there was nothing he could do in such a public setting, lest he end up in a similar position to Steve. 

Except he didn’t see Schmidt all day either.

The only thing that happened that day that was even worth mentioning was the fact that people kept their distance from him, and that… really wasn’t actually worth mentioning, was it?

It wasn’t until the very end of the day, just when Bucky was about to shut his locker and ask Clint to drop him at Steve’s, that Becca nearly knocked him over. 

“What the fuck?”

“Shut up, no,” Becca smacked his flesh arm ( _ so, she was learning) _ , “This is amazing, you have to come with me. I can’t believe this is happening, it’s legitimately the greatest thing that I’ve ever seen.” 

She dragged him down two flights of stairs and into the hallway, where a large group of students huddled around… fuck, that was Rumlow’s locker,  _ oh fuck _ . He was here, wasn’t he? He was here and ready to lance Bucky where he stood. 

“Hey, what’d I tell you all!” Mr. Fury’s voice boomed over the din of the crowd. “This is none of your business. Get outta here!” 

“Open it again!” 

“Now I  _ know _ that wasn’t Wilson,” Fury clapped back. “Dammit Wade, this isn’t gonna wind up some viral video on the internet. Turn off your damn phone. That goes for all of you!” 

“What’s he talking about?” Bucky asked just as Fury threatened to start handing out detention notices left and right. 

“Wait for it,” Becca said as the crowd dissipated. Once they could see Fury, they walked over. 

The look Fury gave him speared right through his heart.

“Barnes,” he said, “You know anything about this?” 

Bucky, unable to speak, just shook his head. The locker wasn’t closed all the way, just a hair’s breadth away from clanking into place. With a sullen sigh, Fury hung his head and opened the locker.

_ ‘You’re the jerk jerk jerk of the week, _

_ You’re a jerk and it’s your week, _

_ You really outdid yourself--’ _

Fury closed the locker again, fatigued. Bucky just… stood there. The upbeat music only added to the maelstrom in his brain. This was Brock Rumlow’s locker, and someone had rigged it to sing a stupid song? It was--who would  _ do  _ that?

“It just keeps going on repeat,” Fury told them. “It won’t come off. I gotta wait until foot traffic dies down, find some solvent…” 

“Why don’t you just rip the wires out?” Becca asked. 

Fury sighed, “Because any time the wires sense an increase in tension, the thing stops singing and starts yelling--” Fury bit his lips, like he couldn’t believe this was about to come out of his mouth, “--’rapist piece of shit’.” 

Bucky wasn’t sure if blood drained out of or rushed to his face. It kind of felt like both. Could it be both? God, people knew. Did everyone know? Everyone had to know. Someone knew enough to get the damn thing to call him a rapist piece of shit, which, granted, he was, but for the love of god. 

“The same message was found keyed into the side of Brock Rumlow’s vehicle in the parking lot yesterday,” Fury continued, “Wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” 

Bucky shook his head again, weaker this time. 

And then it dawned on him: Tony could make crap like this in his sleep. 

Did… no. No, Tony wouldn’t do anything like that for anyone, let alone Bucky. 

The walkie-talkie on Fury’s belt crackled, as though heaving a breath before reporting, “Hey Nick, it’s Phil. So, the locker you asked me to empty is… it’s got some pretty colorful language on the front.”

Fury sighed, yet again, and raised the walkie talkie to his face. 

“Let me guess,” he said, “‘Rapist piece of shit’?” 

A long pause before, “How did you know that?”

“Because it’s the third time I’ve seen the damn thing,” Fury shot back. 

A low whistle sounded from the other end, then, “You still want me to empty it?”

“Yeah, but careful,” Fury warned, “The one up here sings… and yells.”

Bucky frowned.

“Why are you guys cleaning out Rumlow’s lockers?” he asked. 

Fury replaced the walkie-talkie on his belt and crossed his arms. 

“That’s confidential information, Barnes.” 

A quirk of Fury’s eyebrow was all it took for Bucky’s brain to put the final piece into place. 

Rumlow fucking got expelled. Could… could they even do that? It didn’t happen at school or anything. How was this within Fury’s jurisdiction? Bucky then had to ask himself, did he really care? 

The walkie-talkie hissed to life again, this time shouting, “There’s this crap all over  _ everything _ . I--is this  _ itching powder _ ? Wow, what the f--”

Fury quickly switched off the volume. 

“Someone put itching powder in his jock!” Becca clapped. “That is so--”

Fury leveled a look at her, squashing every bit of joy off of her face.

“--very, very unfortunate,” she finished. 

“Word to the wise,” Fury told them. “Tampering with school property is a suspendable offense. It might behoove you to pass on that information, just in case.” 

Bucky nodded, silently bobbing along feather-light on a wave of good feelings, and quickly tugged Becca away from the scene. 

He waited until they were out of Fury’s sight to crack a smile.

 

* * *

 

For a moment, Steve thought he was back in San Diego. He thought he would roll over and look out his window at the California sunshine and crystal clear skies, but in all of two seconds he came back to himself. 

He was in Brooklyn, like he had been for the last six months, in his bed with his arm in a cast because he was stupid enough to have kicked Brock Rumlow’s ass. 

Steve’s eyes snapped open 

Holy shit, he’d kicked Brock Rumlow’s ass. 

_ Holy shit _ , he’d fucking lost it. He couldn’t even remember the details of the fight itself. He’d actually blocked it out, or had been so overcome by rage that his brain couldn’t do anything but punch, let alone retain any memory of it. 

He sat up and wiggled his fingers, first on his left hand and then --  _ wow _ , okay yeah. That hurt.

His phone went off, and for the first time this morning he got a glimpse of the time. 

So, maybe 3:30 meant it wasn’t actually morning, but whatever. Steve would call it whatever the hell he wanted. He swiped through to the message.

**Bucky** : You okay with a visitor after school?

The timestamp read 11:33 am, meaning Bucky had been waiting on his response. God, he hoped Bucky didn’t think he was ignoring him. That was the last thing he would do right now. He brought up his keyboard to reply,

**Me:** Yes please god. I’m sorry, I wasn’t ignoring you or anything, I just woke up. I think I slept for 15 hours.

**Bucky:** Oh, well then good morning, starshine. I’m a block away, so I’ll be there in a few. 

A series of heart emojis followed and Steve managed a smile. He never really considered himself a lucky person; despite his Irish heritage, his family had never held any ‘Luck of the Irish’ beliefs. When you’re born and given maybe a year or so to live before your tiny body gave out, when you suffer through illness and hospital trips and endless treatments, you learn not to put too much stock in luck. However, considering the fact that he’d found Bucky again, the fact that he’d even lived long enough to have met Bucky in the first place, he should probably reconsider his stance. 

He was pretty damn lucky when it counted. 

At the sound of the buzzer, Steve hauled himself out of bed and shuffled to the living room. He pressed the button on the intercom and asked in his best Disney Princess voice, “Who’s there?” 

Bucky’s voice crackled through the tinny speaker, “You know who it is, you shithead.”

Steve snorted, unable to resist, “Bucky-o, Bucky-o, wherefore art thou Bucky-o.” 

The speaker hissed, “Because I refuse to go by Jameseo. Let me in, you schmuck.” 

Steve pressed the button for the door and waited for only a few moments before Bucky was knocking to get in. He swung the door open and, as much as he loved his new friends, he was relieved to see it was only Bucky here to visit him. 

“What’s up, slugger?” 

Steve rolled his eyes and pulled Bucky into the apartment. He didn’t want to talk or kiss or anything like that. All he wanted was to wrap his arms around Bucky and hold onto him for as long as Bucky would let him. 

“Good to see you too, Stevie,” Bucky hugged him back. “How you doin’ today?” 

“Well, like I said, my day just started about fifteen minutes ago,” Steve sniffed back tears that had absolutely no business trying to get out of his face. “How’s yours?” 

It took a beat before Steve realized Bucky was… was he laughing? 

Steve pulled back and looked him up and down. His shoulders were looser than Steve had ever seen them, his smile easier than ever. 

“What?” Steve asked. 

“Pretty sure Rumlow got expelled,” Bucky told him, his sharp eyes alight. “Didn’t see one sign of Schmidt all day.”

Steve’s stomach dropped, the memory suddenly slamming into him like an eighteen-wheeler. 

Fury was going to expel him in his office yesterday. But then Bucky came in at the last minute and… and told Fury what had happened to him. He’d laid everything out, put his own ass, dignity, pride, emotional well-being on the line to tell Fury that Brock Rumlow had--

Steve didn’t even like thinking about it. 

Bucky had been talking through Steve’s flash of memory, and okay so Steve felt a little bad but he would ask Bucky to repeat it. Right  now, Bucky needed a kiss. 

So Steve gave him one. 

When they pulled away, Bucky had this glazed look on his face that suggested the kiss had lasted much longer than Steve realized. He swiped his thumb over the swell of Bucky’s lower lip and smiled. 

“Sorry,” he said, “You’re gonna have to repeat all that.” 

“You,” Bucky swallowed, “You’re gonna have to do that again first.” 

Steve grinned, happy to oblige. They fit together so nicely, and Bucky was warm and smelled and tasted so fucking nice that Steve couldn’t even come up with a word other than  _ nice _ . 

This time when they pulled away, Steve tugged Bucky back to his bedroom and shut the door behind them. They only sat on the bed, though, kneecaps brushing. Bucky’s metal fingers stroked over the digits protruding from Steve’s cast. 

“So, where did you tune out?” Bucky asked. 

“Uh,” Steve searched back through the last few minutes. “You hadn’t seen Schmidt.” 

Bucky grinned and fished his phone out of his hoodie pocket. He swiped through until he was on Vine, and had found the clip he’d been looking for. He turned it to Steve and pushed play. It was Fury opening up a locker that played a song Steve couldn’t quite make out. 

“That’s Rumlow’s locker,” Bucky grinned. “And this next one…” 

He pushed play. When Fury tried to dismantle the device inside the locker, it crowed the words  _ rapist piece of shit _ . 

“Oh, my god,” Steve’s eyes went wide. “That’s incredible.”

“My money’s on Tony,” Bucky said. “And I didn’t get the whole story on this, but I guess Mr. Coulson was emptying Rumlow’s gym locker and it said the same thing on the front. And when he opened it there was itching powder?” 

Bucky’s voice went up at the end, like he couldn’t even believe it had happened. 

Steve, however, couldn’t help but give into the guilt clawing at his gut. The only reason all this kerfuffle happened in the first place was because Steve couldn’t check his aggression at the door. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said. 

Bucky’s eyebrows went up. 

“Dude, for what?” Bucky laughed then. 

“I lost my cool,” Steve muttered, looking down at his own hands. “And I… I didn’t mean to. It was so hard for you to tell people and it’s hard for you to talk about and I just made it all worse. Now you’ve got a bunch of people who know and I--I don’t want to hurt you, Bucky. Not physically or anything, though I don’t want to do that either, but. I don’t want you to think I’m some out of control asshole who can’t keep his cool.”

Bucky’s flesh fingers nudged under Steve’s chin and tilted his head back up. He made Steve look him in the eye as he said, “If it weren’t for you, I probably never would’ve told anyone, Steve. I would be in my room, throwing knives at my wall. I’d be in the same exact place I was before. I’d be fucking miserable. I’d… I’d still be a dead man walking, ready to take that shit to my grave before I even thought about telling anyone what happened. You helped me more than you’ll ever know, Stevie. Kinda saved my life, if you really wanna know.” 

Bucky laced their fingers, his right and Steve’s left, together and squeezed. 

“I love you,” was all Steve could think to say. 

Bucky hummed, “I would too.” 

Steve socked him on the shoulder. 

“I love you too, Stevie,” Bucky sobered through a laugh. “I love you so much. Like, every time I think I couldn’t love you more…” 

Steve cracked a grin, “I know the feeling, man.” 

“So…” Bucky leaned back on his hands. “Wanna make out?” 

“Hell yeah,” Steve grinned and lurched forward, tackling Bucky back onto his tangle of sheets. 

Yeah, this was good. This was right. 


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky landed back on Steve’s bed with an  _ ‘oof!’ _ and a grin, allowed only a moment before Steve’s lips were back on his. He thought the cast might make things difficult, but Steve took it in stride, planting his forearms on either side of Bucky’s head and getting right down to it. 

Making out with Steve was one of the great joys in Bucky’s life. Steve kissed with conviction, but never like he expected it to go any further. It was a remarkable amount of control for a teenage boy with a hair trigger (which they were working on, okay), but it soothed the frayed ends of Bucky’s nerves. 

Not that he had a lot of nerves when it came to Steve anymore. Some, but none they couldn’t work through together, and that was the point: Steve wanted to do it  _ together _ . 

An indiscriminate amount of time passed before Steve pulled back with… god, with this fucking  _ look _ in his eye, like he just wanted to keep Bucky there forever. 

And, you know what? Bucky wouldn’t have minded at all. Not in the slightest. Steve could kiss him like that all day, every day, for the rest of the foreseeable forever and Bucky would welcome it, because he loved Steve and Steve loved him. 

He knew better than to believe the airy feeling in his chest was any sort of permanent, but right now? God, right now it couldn’t have mattered less. 

Bucky reached up and brushed his knuckles over the light spatter of freckles on Steve’s cheekbones. They got easier to see when he got all flushed, and right now this boy’s face was  _ pink _ . 

And they’d only been kissing, for shit’s sake. 

“You just turn on like a light switch, don’t you?” Bucky grinned. 

The flush on Steve’s pale cheeks darkened, and he asked, “You gonna do anything about it?” 

Oh. 

Oh, so that was how they were playing, was it? 

Fortunately for the both of them, Bucky was on the right end of a good day, and was more than willing to kick things into high gear. Without warning (because there was no way he could actually out-wrestle Steve in a fair fight), Bucky flipped and pinned Steve to the mattress by his shoulders. 

Electricity crackled in the air between them. Bucky couldn’t stop looking at Steve, and it didn’t seem like Steve would be looking away from him any time soon either. Everything good and right about today, about this week--hell, about the last few months--funnelled into this one moment.

Bucky licked his lips. 

“Are we about to…” the words died in his throat. All the good feelings in the world couldn’t have kept that spike of panic out of his gut. 

“No,” Steve breathed then. “Not if you don’t want to. I’ll make out with you ‘til our lips fall off if you want.” 

Bucky shook his head and slid his hands from Steve’s shoulders to the mattress right above them. 

“No, that’s,” he swallowed, “No. I like your lips on your face. I was just, um. I was thinking that… I could do that.” 

God, did he actually say that? He did, didn’t he. And fuck if he didn’t mean every damn word. 

Steve’s eyebrows went up. 

“Do what?” he asked. 

He knew. Bucky knew he knew, but this was Steve. 

Steve needed to hear it. 

But also, Bucky was a little shit. 

“I, James Buchanan Barnes, being of sound mind and body, explicitly consent to sexual intercourse via ass with Steven Grant Rogers.”

Steve narrowed his eyes as Bucky broke out into a grin. 

“I don’t like you,” he said. 

“Okay, well we both know  _ that’s  _ a lie,” Bucky laughed, only to be silenced by another kiss. 

They pulled apart and Steve told him, “I’ll bottom if you want. Or top. Whatever you want, we can do.” 

Fuck, how was this okay? How was Steve Rogers just allowed to exist while everyone else on the planet sucked  _ so hard _ ? 

“You--you’re sure?” 

Steve nodded, entirely sober. He added, “I mean, it’s not like I’ve never done it before.”

At Bucky’s strategic lack of response, Steve continued, “Me and--Peggy and I were… we talked about anal sex and she told me if I wanted to try it with her, she got to try it the other way with me.” 

Bucky’s eyebrow quirked, his smile creeped up of its own volition. 

“Peggy,” Bucky repeated. Steve nodded again, and Bucky’s smile grew wider. “Really lives up to her name, huh?” 

Steve smacked him on the arm. 

“Oh, come on, that was  _ funny _ ,” Bucky laughed, only to be silenced a second later by Steve crushing their lips together. 

Bucky’s heart picked up its pace. This wasn’t their regular kind of kissing; this was sexy kissing. This was ‘you have five seconds to remove your pants or there will be consequences’ kind of kissing. Steve slipped their tongues together, nipped at his bottom lip, trying to goad Bucky into some sort of mouth war, but it wasn’t happening. They’d have plenty of time for that, but right now… god, Bucky just wanted to make Steve’s vision go white at the edges, wanted to hear that sweet sound he made in the back of his throat when he was  _ this close _ to coming. 

Bucky pulled off of Steve’s lips with a little  _ smeck! _ and took a breath. He was getting ahead of himself. 

“We’re wearing a lot of clothes,” Steve breathed. “Can we do the thing where we’re not doing that anymore?”

Bucky’s snort turned into a full-on laugh. He buried his face in Steve’s shoulder and breathed in. Laundry detergent, sweat, soap, and whatever else lived in Steve’s skin that made Bucky ache in his jeans. 

“What?” Steve asked, unable to keep the panicked edge out of his voice. 

“You’re just real eager,” Bucky shifted so he could meet Steve’s eye. “S’cute is all.” 

“Yeah, well ‘cute’ ain’t exactly the adjective I’m going for here,” Steve countered and, fuck,  _ there _ was that Brooklyn accent. Heat bloomed in Bucky’s core, shot up and down his body as fast as his heart would take it. He would  _ not  _ make Steve say ‘coffee’ or ‘dog’, or spark up an argument just to hear Steve devolve into full on Brooklyn boy, no matter how fucking hot that would be. 

Bucky regained control of himself and told Steve, “Then I guess we better get naked, huh?”

Steve took it as he would have an order from a commanding officer. They had to shift from their position just a little bit so that they both could yank their shirts off. 

God, it was such a ‘no shit, Sherlock’ moment, but Steve was fucking  _ gorgeous. _ Bucky had always thought so in some form or another, but here, like this, just the two of them, unbelievable level of intimacy right on the other side of the threshold, it was a damn near cosmic level of beauty here between them. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

Except that wasn’t Bucky, but Steve. Bucky had been so busy gaping at Steve’s broad shoulders and pierced nipples and the ridges of muscle just below his flushed skin that he hadn’t realized Steve had been raking his eyes over Bucky in the exact same way. 

“You too, Stevie,” Bucky breathed, then nearly lost his balance when Steve ducked forward to lick a fat stripe over his nipple. 

“Hey, I’m supposed to be gettin’  _ you  _ all hot and bothered, remember?” Bucky only half joked. Steve grinned and wrapped an arm around Bucky, giving only a second to register this new pressure before he rolled his hips against Bucky’s. 

Bucky lost his words at the feeling of Steve’s hard on against him. 

“See?” Steve’s voice was smug, because he was a smug little prick who spoke fluent smug. “I think you’re doin’ a good job so far.” 

They came together in another kiss, this time with much less finesse. Neither of them was a blushing virgin by any means, and teenage libidos aside they’d each proven to one another at least once an ability to hold their own, but this was spiraling out of control fast. 

“Pants,” Steve muttered against Bucky’s lips. 

Right, they were still wearing those. 

Bucky sat all the way up and off of Steve to undo his belt and jeans, while Steve just shoved his pajama pants and undies down his legs and kicked them aside. 

“Oh, come  _ on _ ,” Bucky whined, because Steve was naked on a bed in front of him, all muscles, all hard lines and-- _ Jesus _ \--leaking precome all over his smooth, pale skin like it was his fucking job. 

“Uh, you’re the one who’s still got clothes on, which is rude as fuck,” Steve pointed out before shifting. When it became apparent that he was looking for something under his bed, Bucky’s brain slid into focus. He was going to bury himself in Steve Rogers’ ass and never look back. 

Just as Bucky flung his jeans and boxers off the other side of the bed, Steve pulled up with the fruits of his expedition: a bottle of lube and a box of condoms. 

The broken record in Bucky’s brain skipped, told him to hit the panic button and bail before this went south--

No. This was Steve. Steve was good, safe. So, Bucky did the only thing he could think to do. 

“That’s pretty ambitious,” he joked, indicating the box of condoms. 

Steve broke out into a crooked smile, “You tellin’ me you can’t go twelve times in a row, Barnes?” 

“Hey, I never said that,” Bucky grinned back. “Just said it was ambitious is all. Here, lie back.” 

Steve did as he was told, handing over the condoms and lube on the way. 

Bucky was in control. He could call it quits anytime and Steve wouldn’t think any less of him. 

Call him crazy, but that sealed the deal. The event horizon had been reached; they were doing this. 

Bucky parted Steve’s thighs and kneeled between them. All spread out, he was even more beautiful.  

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Steve nudged Bucky with his leg. 

Bucky shuddered at the thought. “Hold onto that,” he said, “I’m gonna come back to that at 12:01 am on July fourth, all right jailbait?” 

Steve let out a laugh, which devolved into a sigh when Bucky leaned down and licked a stripe up the underside of his cock. 

He did it again, and again, then took almost half of Steve’s erection into his mouth and yep, there was that helpless whine in the back of his throat. 

“ _ Godnotyet _ ,” Steve bit down on his lip and Bucky immediately backed off. 

While Steve concentrated on coming back down from his edge, Bucky cracked the cap on the lube and poured some over his flesh fingers, rubbing to get everything nice and warm. 

When they looked one another in the eye this time, Steve nodded his assent and that was all Bucky needed. He slid his hand down behind Steve’s balls and breached him with his index finger. 

And Steve just sighed like it was the most heavenly experience in this freaking mortal coil. God, Bucky couldn’t wait to hear his name like a prayer on Steve’s lips. 

Bucky worked at a steady pace, waiting until Steve fucked back on his hand to add the next finger. He found Steve’s prostate and nearly went blind with the keening moan that tore out of that exquisite throat. 

“Bucky,” he breathed as the third finger slid inside him.  _ “God _ , Buck, please. Please I’m gonna fuckin’ die if you don’t gimme your dick, like, yesterday.” 

That was it. Bucky’s erection would no longer go ignored. He was so hard it was impossible to think he could even roll on a condom without bursting. 

Bucky withdrew his fingers from Steve’s ass and grabbed for the box of condoms. He knew he’d been leaking all over himself as he worked Steve open, but this was ridiculous. His hand was slick with lube anyway, and the precome made it downright slippery, but he managed to open and roll on the condom with little trouble. 

“Hey, Buck.”

Bucky looked up to see Steve sitting up, his legs still spread wide and his face unfailingly earnest. 

Steve kissed him with pure, concentrated lust. 

“Love you,” he murmured against Bucky’s lips. “All of you.” 

Bucky’s heart would have swelled if all the blood in his body wasn’t busy keeping his dick rock hard. 

“Love you too, Stevie,” Bucky returned, every bit as serious as he could manage before he said, “We’re gonna fuck now.”

Steve snorted and reclined back on the bed, letting Bucky work out how to position their limbs before he lined up and started to sink into him. 

Bucky swore. 

Steve was fucking  _ hot _ , both aesthetically and literally. He was tight, took in every single inch of Bucky like he’d cease to be if they weren’t as close as humanly possible. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this level of ecstasy, the last time he’d felt so much like himself and out of his own body at the same time. 

“Hey,” Steve brought him back, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist to keep them locked together. He reassured, “You’re okay, sweetheart. I got you.” 

Bucky melted into the reassurance and rocked forward, stealing both of their breath from their bodies. It devolved after that, with Bucky trying to build a rhythm that matched with Steve’s and Steve trying to do the same with him. It was imperfect, and in that they found perfection. 

Bucky got there first. Something about Steve rolling to meet him, about his legs around his waist, about the way Steve exhaled dirty words like they were just another byproduct of oxygen intake, about the way pleasure built in his belly when Steve asked, “You close?” 

Bucky’s eyes screwed shut and he nodded and he rocketed off the edge. Something in the back of his brain reminded him that Steve hadn’t gotten his yet, but the animal part of him took over and slammed into Steve, riding out his orgasm until nothing was left. He was pretty sure he’d shot out his brain into that condom and he couldn’t have been happier. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Steve breathed. Red mottled his pale skin, his cock laid thick and full and leaked onto his belly in steady blurts. He was so close that it had to have hurt, but he wouldn’t do anything about it. He just stared at Bucky like a painting in the freaking Louvre or whatever. 

Bucky’s mind returned then and he wrapped his hand around Steve. He murmured, “So are you, Steve. I always thought so.” 

Steve moaned, desperate. 

“You know how hard I used to fantasize about you after you left?” Bucky asked, his hand dragging nice and slick up and back down Steve’s shaft, “or how many times I thought about you holding me down and fucking me into next week?”

Steve seized and let out a cry, shooting spurt after spurt of sticky white up his stomach. He clenched and pulsed where Bucky was still inside him, and Bucky swore he saw stars. 

A few quiet moments passed wherein the two of them just sat catching their breath. Dazed, Bucky looked up from where he’d buried his face in Steve’s neck and asked, “That really just happen?” 

Steve grinned and stretched like a cat beneath him, “It better fuckin’ have.” 

It was disappointing that they had to pull apart. Bucky was pretty sure he could’ve stayed inside Steve forever. He tossed the condom in the trash and, not wanting to leave the room, grabbed a couple tissues off of the bedside table so he could clean them up. 

“Such a gentleman,” Steve teased as Bucky mopped up his stomach, and Bucky flipped him off.  

Trash all thrown in the wastebasket, Bucky settled back against Steve and shifted so they could cuddle. That’s right,  _ cuddle _ . Bucky would’ve balked mere months ago at the thought of cuddling naked with Steve, but now it felt like the most natural thing in the world. 

“Buck?” 

Bucky hummed. 

“You gonna be mad if I crash?” 

Bucky hummed again, “Nah, man. ‘m right behind you, actually.” 

Steve yawned and nuzzled deeper against Bucky with a decisive, “Good.” 

And that was how they fell asleep.  

**oo**

It took all of five seconds for Clint to realize, “You guys  _ fucked _ , didn’t you!” 

Though unable to keep the doofy smile off of his face, Bucky shrugged and attempted to play coy. It was hard to believe just how much had happened this week, from his tearful confession to his mom to Steve’s expulsion to his friends exacting revenge to yesterday after school, when Steve and Bucky had gone at it like it was their dying act. 

“Nat!” Clint whined as Natasha took the seat beside him at their usual cafeteria table. “Steve and Bucky bumped uglies last night.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t call it ugly,” Nat returned, deadpan. “It’s actually pretty nice from what I remember.” 

Bucky winked and shot a single finger gun at her, which only made her face fall.

“Oh my god, you  _ did  _ have sex with Steve,” she said. 

“Why does it matter?” Bucky wanted to be indignant, he really did, but it was kind of difficult when most of his brain was still soaking in memories of yesterday afternoon. 

“It doesn’t,” Bruce muttered from beside Bucky, and Bucky jumped. He’d almost forgotten Bruce was right there next to him; spray paint him bronze and sit him on a bench in Central Park and he’d probably make a killing in tips in just one afternoon. 

“Thank you,” Bucky still said, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Bruce is ace,” Natasha waved it off, “Sex doesn’t matter to him anyway.”

At this, Bruce looked up and gave Natasha possibly one of the most meaningful looks Bucky had ever seen him give. 

“Finally, someone gets it,” he said. “I’m getting a little verklempt, hang on.”

Bucky snorted. 

“And it’s not the sex that matters, dummy,” Natasha flipped down her hood. “We just want to know you’re, y’know… okay.”

Bucky blinked. 

“Pretty sure I’m doing great,” he told them. “I mean, I came balls deep in Steve’s ass not twenty-four hours ago, so. Yeah, I’m doing all right.”

Bruce wrinkled his nose just Thor approached the cafeteria table. Like he did just about every day, he carried with him a canvas bag full of more food than any of them could put away in a week. He called it his lunch, but Bucky was pretty sure no one body could fit that much food inside it.

“Greetings, friends,” he tipped an imaginary cap before pulling out the first of many sandwiches in his bag. “In whose business are we nose deep this afternoon?”

“Bucky railed Steve yesterday!” Clint blurted. 

“Dude, cool it,” Bucky hissed, but Clint was determined to be as uncool about this as possible. 

“D in A, dude!” he told Thor. 

“Mm,” Thor mumbled through a mouthful of turkey and bread, “Gross.”

“ _ Thank _ you!” Bruce gestured at Thor. 

“Not the act itself,” Thor clarified after he swallowed, “To which I know nobody at this table objects. It’s just--”

It was Tony who approached the table now, with his hands out at his sides and a puff of pride in his chest, though, loudly declaring, “Guess who’s getting coffee with Pepper Potts after school today.” 

“Rhianna,” Natasha supplied. 

“George Clooney!” Clint followed. 

“Ooh, I bet it’s Hillary Clinton,” Natasha grinned, much to Tony’s dismay.

“It’s me, you assholes!” he shouted at them. “Pepper wants to talk to me for an extended period of time, alone, in a well-lit public place.” 

Clint pulled a face, “No offense, but… maybe avoid fluorescent lighting.” 

Tony flipped him off and sat beside Bruce. He nudged him, “Hear that, Brucey?” 

“Loud and clear,” Bruce tried to turn his attention back to his book. “Happy for you. Maybe you’ll give my dick a break now.”

“Aw, I’m sure he doesn’t love your dick any less,” Clint reassured. “I know I wouldn’t.”

“Thanks,” Bruce narrowed his eyes, “I think.”

Bucky, finally spotting a place to jump in, asked, “You need any help getting ready?”

Everyone turned to him, and he shrugged, “What? I can’t get in on this?” 

“Oh my god, you got--”

“Laid, yeah Tony,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Stop the fucking presses--”

“Print news is dying,” Tony countered. 

“Don’t be a shit,” Bruce told him. “The guy’s offering to help you be less of a fuck-up in front of Pepper; take him up on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” said Bucky, “But I’m pretty adept at dressing for success, both in the board room and bedroom.” 

“What crack-tastic Friday night TLC wedding show did you lift that from?” Bruce asked. 

Which Bucky countered with, “How do you know Fridays are wedding programming on TLC?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes and turned back to his book. 

“You really wanna help?” Tony asked Bucky then, still looking dumbstruck by the offer. 

“Yeah,” Bucky smiled. “Should thank you for your locker handiwork somehow.” 

Tony shushed him, “Fury’s out for blood on that one. I mean, I assume.” 

“Don’t hold your breath,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Also, next time you idiots are out for revenge, leave it to the professionals, please.”

“Excuse you,” Tony demanded as Bruce looked back up and vehemently denied involvement. 

“They didn’t even make it to Rumlow, for shit’s sake,” Nat said. “No one’s mad at you for being amateurs, but come on. Think it through next time.” 

As the argument stretched on, Bucky smiled. A well of good feelings took over, and for a single, blissful moment, he felt incredibly normal.  

**oo**

“Okay, but you gotta calm down.” 

Tony seemed content to ignore this piece of advice, however, and continued to sweat through his under shirt. 

“Are you shitting me?” Bruce asked from where he sat on Tony’s bed, now flipping through some trade magazine that Bucky couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of. Tony’s dad was on the front of it, though, and Bucky supposed that was why it was in the house to begin with. 

“Why would he be shitting you?” Tony asked, staring over his reflection’s shoulder at Bruce’s reflection. Bruce looked back at him. 

Mirrors were weird. 

“Will you ladies just decide on something already,” Natasha asked. She too was sitting in Tony’s room, on the floor beside Tony’s bed, also partially distracted by a magazine. 

The only person missing in all this was Steve. His dad wasn’t about to let him out with his friends after this week. It would be a miracle if Steve was allowed to do anything fun before he turned eighteen and was legally no longer under Joe Rogers’ rules.

“Why are you all even here?” Tony asked, looking smaller and more unsure than Bucky had ever seen him. 

“Because Clint is the only one with a car,” said Clint as he peered inside Tony’s aquarium. 

“And Clint’s gonna get his ass beat if he keeps referring to himself in the third person,” Bruce countered. Natasha raised her hand up for a high five, which he gave without hesitation.

“Perhaps a shirt that didn’t belong to your father in the 1970s,” Thor suggested. He sat near the aquarium with Clint, looking about as bored as ever. 

“Like fuck,” Tony let out a laugh. “I don’t wear my dad’s old shit. This is thrifted.” 

He indicated the plentiful collection of t-shirts hanging in his closet. 

“You don’t wanna put those in a dresser?” Clint asked. 

Tony narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. 

“I’m telling you,” Bucky butted back in. “You’re gonna want to wear something that doesn’t have holes in it, and I’m pretty sure moths have had a field day in here.” 

“Fatigue chic is a thing,” Tony tried to defend, but Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, and you’re not fucking doing it, like, at all,” he shot back. “Jeans, a nice t-shirt, and  _ no holes _ .”

“What if they’re somewhere provocative, though?” Tony asked and looked down at his white undershirt. He poked his fingers into his nipples, “Like, right here. Just got little nip windows. That’s sexy, right?” 

Bucky buried his face in his hands. 

“Nip windows aren’t a thing, dude,” he said. 

“Not yet,” Tony countered. “But I’m nothing if not a trend setter.” 

“Oh, man, this is painful,” Bruce muttered. 

“Then perhaps you’ll join me in walking back to my house,” Thor said and stood. “I could use some company.” 

“Gladly,” Bruce said and tossed his magazine aside. He hopped off the bed and gave Tony a quick clap on the back. “Good luck, Tony. Good work, sleep well, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.” 

The door clicked shut in their wake. Bucky shook his head and turned back to see Tony smiling into the mirror. 

“That’s a big smile for someone who’s still dressed like he escaped a tiger enclosure at the zoo,” said Bucky, ready to get back to work. 

Finally, Bucky took matters into his own hands and pulled the only acceptable items of clothing that said ‘casual coffee date with the woman I intend to marry’. A plain black t-shirt that looked more or less brand new stretched over Tony’s chest, not tight but snug enough to hug. Over it, Bucky draped a deep red button down that he left wide open, and took a few extra seconds to roll up the sleeves to his elbows. Dark blue jeans fell perfectly over Tony’s weedy frame, and even with just his mismatched socks, he still kinda looked like a knockout. 

“Shit,” Tony’s eyebrows went up as he studied himself in the mirror. Bucky stood behind him and grabbed him by the shoulders, pleased with himself. 

“See?” he asked. “Not so hard. Or, ‘difficult’, as the case may be for some of us.” 

He glared pointedly at mirror-Clint, who glared back. 

“Like you wouldn’t fuck him!” he exclaimed. 

“Oh, I totally would,” Bucky grinned. 

“So would I,” Nat admitted. “Damn, Stark. You don’t clean up half bad.” 

“Just gotta fix your hair,” said Bucky. “Where’s your product?”

Tony gave him this perplexed look and Bucky heaved a sigh. 

“I don’t know about this shit, man!” Tony defended himself. “I’m not a fucking model, or an athlete, or a princess, or a brain, or a basket case--”

“Stop quoting Breakfast Club, for shit’s sake,” Bucky hung his head. “Nat, you got anything on you?” 

Natasha was already rummaging through her backpack, retrieving a small bottle of serum that would have to do for now. She handed it over and Bucky saluted her. 

“Thank you kindly,” he said. 

He squeezed a little amount into his hands, rubbed them together, and buried his fingers in Tony’s hair. 

“Hey!” Tony exclaimed. “What the fuck, asshole?” 

“Tony, I love you,” Bucky said, “You’re a goddamn genius and not as shitty a person as I thought you were--”

“Wow,” Tony let out a laugh, “You should make speeches more often.”

“--that’s why I can’t let you go out looking like you’re taking time out of your busy Dungeons and Dragons schedule to meet Pepper.” 

“I don’t…” Tony stopped himself, then sighed, “Fine, I’ll give you that.”

By the time Bucky had finished, Tony looked downright bangable (if he did say so himself). 

“There, you’re ready,” Bucky beamed. “No way Pepper doesn’t wanna jump you looking like that.” 

“Agreed,” Clint and Natasha both nodded. 

Tony smiled, first at his mirror self, and then at mirror Bucky. 

“Thanks, man.”

Bucky winked, “Don’t mention it.”

 

* * *

 

If he just kept his arms pinned at his sides, there was no way Pepper would be able to see that he’d sweat through both his undershirt and the button down Bucky had wrestled him into. He couldn’t help it; he had a long history of fucking things up with people he liked, and with Pepper especially. 

But Pepper gave him no reason to be nervous. From the second they saw one another from across the coffee shop to right now, when he and Pepper sat at a table tucked away in a more secluded part of the dining area with twin cups of steaming coffee, Pepper had been nothing but smiles and easy laughs. 

He tried to keep the memories of their admittedly unsatisfying bedroom romp out of his head, but man. He’d grown a lot since then, and it would’ve been nice to make it up to her. He knew about g-spots and clitorises (clitori?) and everything now, and even though Bruce didn’t care for sex all that much, he was never shy about telling Tony he’d done a good job. 

Pepper deserved someone who could do a good job for her. 

“Tony?”

Tony came back to himself just in time to see Pepper looking at him with yet another indecipherable face. Would it be rude to take a picture of it and send  it to Bruce so he could ask, ‘wtf is she looking at me like’? Probably. 

“Yeah,” Tony shook the thought from his head. “What’s up?”

“I said, I hate to cut this short, but I have an AP Lit paper to write,” Pepper repeated. “Do you want to walk home with me?” 

“Oh… yeah,” Tony nodded. Of course she needed to go--she was the busiest person he knew, after all. The cleared their table and gathered their things, and on their way out the door, Tony stuck a ten dollar bill in the tip jar. 

What? The coffee was really good. 

Pepper’s building was only slightly outside the route from the coffee shop to Tony’s house. He didn’t mind walking with her, especially since it was already dark outside. Maybe he wasn’t the biggest or scariest guy, but at least if someone tried to start some shit with Pepper, Tony could give them hell right back.  

Pepper could hold her own, which Tony knew. She was like Natasha: strong, self-possessed, and terrifying when crossed. It didn’t make Tony any less protective, though. Tony didn’t like a lot of people, which made it all the more infuriating when the ones he did care for ended up in harm’s way. 

“So,” Tony began. “Any plans this weekend?”

That was a thing normal people said to one another, right?

Pepper let out a sigh, “We’re working on Winter Formal right now. It won’t be until we come back from winter break, but we still have to start looking up caterers and venues and everything.”

Tony smiled to himself. 

“What?” Pepper asked.

“Organizing an event, telling everyone what  to do and when to do it,” Tony shrugged. “Sounds like your heaven, Potts.” 

Pepper grinned and gave him a little shove. 

“What about you?” she asked. “What do you do when you’re not terrorizing the masses?” 

Tony smacked a hand over his chest and pretended to be offended. “How dare you, madam. I have never done anything of the sort.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” Pepper laughed. 

“Nah, I’ll probably just hang out with Bruce all weekend,” Tony shrugged. “Maybe visit Steve. Finish working on that prototype in my basement.” 

“Prototype of what?” Pepper asked. 

“It’s a bra removal device--” Tony didn’t even get to finish the lie before she smacked him on the  shoulder. 

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” she asked. 

“I did,” Tony nodded. “You’ll be happy to know Bruce doesn’t let me go a day without reminding  me.” 

Pepper’s smile melted into something even warmer. 

“How is Bruce?” 

Tony felt something stir in his chest. Even back when Pepper and Tony dated the first time around, he’d made no secret of his and Bruce’s relationship. It was one of the only reasons Pepper kept talking to him in the first place: a bisexual guy was easier to tolerate than a straight guy. 

She’d said those exact words to him and everything. 

“Bruce is okay,” Tony said, sifting back through the last few days for something interesting. 

… huh. He’d actually been acting kind of weird the last day or so. 

Whatever, he’d ask Bruce later. 

When they got to Pepper’s stoop, Tony felt the freaking sword of Damocles looming. Were they… was  this  an end-with-a-kiss sort of date? Or had Pepper really just asked him if he wanted to get coffee and catch up? God, people were fucking confusing. 

Pepper wound up answering the question when she ducked forward and kissed Tony right on the lips. 

Shit, Tony had forgotten how no-nonsense she really was. 

She pulled back and, seeming to come back to herself, let out  a laugh. 

Tony laughed too. 

“Hey, lookit that,” he said, “You hardly have to bend down to kiss me now.” 

A flush rose on Pepper’s pale, freckled cheeks, painting her pink all the way up to the coppery roots of her hair. 

This time it was Tony who initiated the kiss. Tony really liked kissing and unfortunately Bruce wasn’t all that keen on it. He’d always twist away at the last second, or tell Tony to stop being gross. Once in a blue moon would Bruce let it happen, would let Tony cup his jaw and-- _ wait.  _

He pulled back. 

Why was Bruce stuck in his head all of a sudden?

“Uh, yeah,” Tony swallowed. That was definitely Pepper’s chapstick that left that cool menthol buzz on his lips. He knew he shouldn’t say it, knew it was a social faux pas, and if  _ he _ knew that then it was definitely all the way in the realm of Not Okay. And yet he said, “Thinking about Bruce.”

He never liked lying to Pepper. 

Pepper blinked and folded her twiggy arms over her slim chest. 

“What about him?” she asked. 

Tony looked up. 

That was not the response he’d expected, that was for sure. 

“That I love him a lot,” was also not the response Tony had intended to give. 

“Of course you do,” Pepper said. 

“And I really like you too,” Tony continued, puzzled beyond belief. He could build robots and rewire apartment complexes without even a second thought, but when it came to feelings, Tony was a fucking moron. 

“I… I like you too, Tony,” Pepper told him, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

The touch prompted comfort, and comfort prompted more words. He said, “It’s not an either/or thing. It’s ‘and’. I love Bruce and I really like you.” 

Terror wracked his body for about half a second. Normal people didn’t think that was okay and he knew that. Pepper was probably the most normal person he knew. Knowing this could be the last time he could do so without threat of another punch in the face, he looked up into her eyes.

A breath of relief escaped him. He knew what that was in her eyes just now. 

That was understanding. 

She said, “I think you need to talk to Bruce. And then if he wants, maybe the three of us can talk.” 

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t have heard that correctly. 

“You don’t care?” he asked. Pepper smirked and squeezed his shoulder. 

“Tony, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a handful,” she said. “You need more than one wrangler, and that’s okay. I’m busy, you and Bruce are busy, and a year from now we’ll all be in college. I like you, but I don’t need exclusive access.” 

Tony practically bowled her over with the relief packed into this hug. 

“You’re amazing,” he told her. 

“Tony, come on,” Pepper laughed, but hugged him back. “I just said I’m okay sharing you with your best friend, not that I found the lost city of Atlantis or something.”

Tony didn’t tell her that letting him keep loving Bruce was better than finding Atlantis. What had Atlantis ever done for him? 

Nothing, that’s what. 

With another kiss, Pepper took her final leave and ducked into her building. Tony had to fight the cartoonish urge to hop up on the light post and swing around, but man, he could’ve jumped halfway to the moon right now if he’d wanted to. 

Instead, he settled for running all the way back home. 

Bruce was back. He’d gotten back before Bucky and Natasha had all but dragged Tony into Clint’s van. He hadn’t offered to lift even a finger, and instead made himself a sandwich while everyone else struggled. 

Now he sat on a bar stool at the island counter in the sleek kitchen, homework spread out in front of him and attention focused entirely on the words coming out of his pen. 

Tony swiveled Bruce’s chair around without warning and smacked a big kiss right on his lips. 

“Dude!” Bruce wriggled away and nearly fell off the stool. “What the hell?” 

Tony felt too good to keep it to himself. 

“I love you.”

Bruce blinked. 

“And?” he asked. “What’s that got to do with the price of tea in China?” 

“Pepper knows I love you,” Tony said. “I told her.” 

Bruce’s tired eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his wire-framed glasses. 

“Why’d you tell her that?” he asked. 

“Because it’s the truth,” Tony couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. He watched Bruce process this information, undoubtedly synthesizing and sorting and applying before he even knew the whole of what Tony was trying to tell him. 

“Tony,” he finally said, “If you’re giving up dating Pepper or sleeping with her or whatever because of me… you’re kinda betting on a horse with a broken leg to win a race, y’know?” 

“No, listen,” Tony shoved both fists into Bruce’s chest. “She doesn’t care.”

Bruce grabbed Tony’s wrists and--lost his train of thought. 

“Wait, what?” he asked. 

“Well, it’s a paraphrase,” Tony began, “But the gist of it is that she knows I’m too much for one person?” 

Bruce snorted, “And you took that as a compliment, huh?” 

“She told me I don’t have to stop fucking around with you, asshole,” Tony tried to grab his wrists back, but Bruce held onto them. “Compliment, insult, I genuinely couldn’t give a shit.”

Bruce’s phone buzzed on the counter, bringing up a picture of a dog taking a frisbee to the face and the words, “Clint Barton Calling…” 

Bruce let one of Tony’s hands go and swiped through to answer.

“Clint?” he asked as Tony came forward to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Turn on the news!” Clint shouted. “Are you near a TV? TURN ON THE TV!” 

“Okay, man, take it easy,” Bruce shook his head and grabbed his phone off of the counter and tugged Tony along with him into the living room. Tony flipped on the TV and Bruce asked, “Where are we looking?” 

“Local news,” Clint said. “I’m on ABC.” 

Tony clicked over to the indicated channel and turned up the volume. 

_ “--to the six o’clock news. Breaking news tonight: a local high school baseball coach Alexander Pierce has been discharged from his position at Brooklyn Academy High School for allegedly attempting to cover up a sexual assault between two of his players. We turn now live to Brooklyn Academy High where our own Sharon Carter is on the scene.” _

“Holy shit,” Bruce’s eyes went wide as local reporter Sharon Carter appeared on screen. 

“That’s our school,” Tony smacked Bruce’s arm. 

“No shit,” Clint shot over the phone. 

_ “Thank you, Sharon Carter here. I’m standing outside Brooklyn Academy right now where baseball coach Alexander Pierce has been discharged. Now, this has been developing all week, the story first coming to light only a few days ago when the assault victim came forward to the dean of students and offered his testimony. I’ve been told that some have even rallied around this young man to show that they stand against sexual assault--” _

“Oh, boy,” Bruce muttered as a picture of Brock Rumlow’s gym locker came up on screen, the word ‘shit’ pixelated out. A picture of Rumlow’s Jeep followed, the same words etched into the paint. 

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “Oops?” 

Bruce and Tony both looked at one another, twin looks of ‘oh shit’ on their faces. 

'Oops' was right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: In case anyone needed [the picture](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/KER4SF4vAsM/maxresdefault.jpg) Bruce uses for Clint in his phone


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* I'm not dead! Life and mental illness are doing that thing where they get in the way of me doing things I enjoy. There will be one more chapter after this and an epilogue to follow. Thank you for your patience if you are reading this in real time. I appreciate each and every last stinkin' one of you (I really can't tell you all that enough). 
> 
> Also for all my ace folks/folks who'd rather not read it, **there is smut at the beginning of section three** , but returns to story before the chapter ends. C:

It was everywhere by the time the weekend rolled around:

_ Local teen arrested for sexual assault of classmate. _

Fury assured mom that he would do everything in his power to keep the personal details of the incident as secret as he could, but in the world of instant information and social media, Bucky’s name eventually came up and made it into the news cycle. Theirs was at least a small school, and the scope of people who knew him personally wasn’t nearly as broad as the people who now knew some of his most intimate business. 

The phone rang off the hook at home all weekend, which, to be fair, brought about mom’s decision to finally get rid of their land line, so y’know...

Progress. 

“Vultures,” mom muttered as she came in the front door, wearing all twelve hours of her nursing shift on her face and in the slump of her shoulders. Bucky and Becca had taken the day to stay inside, figuring now was the perfect time to catch up on all the episodes of Maury piled up on their DVR. 

So Bucky liked watching trashy TV with his little sister, fuck you. 

But all the trash TV in the world couldn’t erase the pang of gut he felt when he asked, “Reporters?” 

“Six of them,” mom huffed and untangled the scarf from around her neck. Becca, meanwhile, slipped off the couch and peeked out of a sliver in the curtains. 

“Looks like they’re packing up,” she said and turned back to both mom and Bucky. “What is wrong with people?” 

“They’re reporters, it’s their job,” Bucky told her. “They got rent to pay, families to feed…”

“They don’t have to feed them at the expense of a victim,” mom said. 

“Okay, Nancy Grace--ow!” 

“Compare me to Nancy Grace again and you’re getting more than slapped, young man.”

Bucky clutched the back of his head and sank lower into the couch. Still a week out from Christmas, it felt more like the middle of January--everything cold, everything gloomy and gray, with snow carpeting the city three times over. Had he been allowed, Bucky would have been over at Steve’s, but the combination of reporters lurking and Joe Rogers trying to maintain a firm hand with his son really limited his options. 

So, he fought the oppressive chill of winter on his couch by himself, buried under half a dozen blankets with his brand new Hanukkah socks keeping his feet cozy. 

Mom sat down in the adjacent recliner, still in her winter coat, and pulled something out of her pocket. 

“Here,” she held it out to Bucky, “It may have gotten a little messed up on the way home, but I want you to look into it.”

The something in question turned out to be a pamphlet, one Bucky recognized by the St. Monica’s logo on the bottom right corner as coming from mom’s work. 

He read out loud, “ _ Sexual Assault: It’s Not Your Fault.  _ Ma, what the hell?” 

“I asked Nadine up in the teen center if she had any resources that might be helpful,” mom replied. “She’s going to look into getting me a comprehensive list, but I wanted you to look on the back middle panel, the first thing it says.” 

Bucky tried not to roll his eyes too hard as he turned over the glossy sheet. 

_ Outreach Resources:  _

_ Teen Survivors of Sexual Assault Group - Mondays @ 8pm _

Bucky looked up at her and raised both eyebrows. He knew, but asked anyway, “What about it?”

“I think it would benefit you to go,” mom said. 

“Go to what?” Becca asked, and snagged the brochure from Bucky before he could tell her to piss off. 

“Rebecca, leave it,” mom chastised, and, oddly enough, Becca listened. She returned the pamphlet and took her seat beside Bucky again, resting her chin on her kneecaps, waiting. 

“Ma, I don’t… really wanna talk about it with a bunch of strangers,” Bucky told her. It wasn’t anyone’s business but his own and it had so rapidly become otherwise that sharing not only didn’t seem appealing, but it felt almost unnecessary at this point. 

“You don’t want to talk to a therapist, you don’t want to talk to a counselor,” mom worked at her coat buttons, “You have to talk with someone, honey. You have to process what happened and move on.”

“I thought I was moving on,” Bucky said. “I have friends, and a boyfriend, and just… I was doing okay.” 

Was. 

Then people had to open their big fat fucking mouths and blab that he wasn’t as normal as he was pretending to be. 

As if on cue, Bucky’s left arm chose that moment to have a mechanical spasm, filling the room with the piercing sound of metal on metal. Mom must’ve sensed the spike of adrenaline in Bucky’s core, must’ve seen that he was two seconds away from an actual meltdown, because she just took a breath and hung her head.

“Honey,” mom repeated, running her palms over her scrubs. “First and foremost, we can get that fixed. We’ll get a new one if we have to.”

“We don’t have the money--”

“James Buchanan Barnes, you shut your mouth this instant,” mom snapped, something dark making a home on her normally affable face. “I care about helping you and getting you what you need to help you feel safe and be healthy. There’s no price on your head; you’re not a number, or an account balance. You’re my son and I am responsible for taking care of you. That goes for your arm, but it goes for therapy too. You don’t have to talk in group therapy sessions, but at the very least it might help to hear from people who have been through something similar.” 

Bucky let out a huff. He would’ve given anything to be back at rock bottom again; down there he wouldn’t have given two shits about his mom trying to help him. He would’ve just yelled at her to mind her own fucking business and let him live his life because she  _ hadn’t _ kept him safe and healthy. Horrific things had happened while he was under her care and she should feel as shitty as he did for as long as he did. 

Now, though… he could see the pain and desperation on mom’s face because she  _ knew _ all that. She knew this had happened under her charge and it visibly pained her that she hadn’t done all that she could, and it filled Bucky with all kinds of unimaginable guilt. 

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “But I’m not promising anything.” 

Mom smiled for about half a second before turning it into a nod and saying, “Thank you.” 

She stood and paused to kiss him on the top of his head, then kissed Becca in the same way before asking, “Now, who wants some pizza for dinner?”

**oo**

“I mean… it’s not the  _ worst _ idea anyone’s ever had.”

Bucky looked up from where he’d buried his face in Steve’s shoulder and scowled. He’d trekked across Brooklyn with pizza sloshing in his belly, incurred the nearly lethal expression of “done” on Joe Rogers’ face, all so Steve could agree with his  _ mother _ ?

“Steve, it’s group therapy,” Bucky tried to reason. “I didn’t even want to talk to you about it; why would I want to tell strangers?” 

“Because it might help, you dingdong,” Steve said, tugging on the sleeves of his lumpy, cabled sweater. Bucky sat back on the bed, well aware that the last time he’d been in said bed he’d been snuggled against Steve in a post-coital fog. It had only been a few days and the memory was simultaneously as fresh as powdery snow and as far behind them as the very first time they’d met. 

Steve had since changed the sheets, but the lube was still on the bedside table, and it made Bucky’s insides run like egg yolk. 

He sat still as Steve continued with his Inspirational Rallying of the Troops:

“Y’know, it’s not such a crime to ask for help when you need it. You’ve been through a lot and it’s unfair to expect yourself to not need the resources to get through it.”

“But I was doing--”

“Better, yeah, I know,” Steve nodded. “We all know. You are doing a lot better than you were, but that doesn’t mean you’re done healing. Healing takes time, especially when it’s your brain doing the healing.” 

“I  _ know _ ,” Bucky sighed, maybe with a little too much attitude. He muttered, “Sorry. I just… I don’t know.” 

It wasn’t even the most nonsensical way he’d contradicted himself today, yet he couldn’t help but feel his face turn hot with shame under Steve’s eye. 

Bucky swallowed and finally made eye contact. 

“What if this is as better as I’m gonna get?” he asked. “And I go to therapy, realize there’s a whole bunch I’m never gonna be able to fix, and I end up right back where I started? I don’t have the energy for that, Steve. I really don’t.”

“I know you don’t,” Steve replied, his voice soft, “But the other half of ‘this might not work’ is that it might. It might help you, Buck, and isn’t it worth trying just for that?” 

Steve wouldn’t wipe that stupidly earnest look off his face even if Bucky held him down and tried to wipe it off himself. Steve would always be concerned about him and that was just how it was going to be. 

“You think your dad will let you come with me?” Bucky asked. “Not, like, into the meeting, but… walk me there? And wait for me to be done?” 

“Fuck it,” Steve shrugged, “Even if he doesn’t, I’m going with you. That’s not even a question.” 

Steve slid his fingers between Bucky’s, left interlocking with right. Bucky looked at Steve’s cast resting on his thigh, then down at his own metal hand where it had been twisting the hell out of Steve’s blankets. He attempted to let the blankets out of his grip, but the prosthetic didn’t let up. 

Bucky’s stomach sank.

“Oh, no,” he muttered, snagging his free hand back from Steve in an effort to pull the metal back without damaging the comforter. His heart kicked up its speed, his guts turned to liquid iron as he finally pulled himself free.

The hand froze in a tightly clenched fist, the arm wouldn’t bend.

“Fuck,” he shook his head, because as hard as it was to believe that this was happening, that the arm hadn’t even lasted a  _ year _ , of course it was happening because that was the nature of Bucky’s life. Things happened to him that shouldn’t happen to anyone. 

He didn’t realize he’d started to hyperventilate until there was a paper lunch bag in front of him and Steve frantically typing something out on his phone.  He took the bag and breathed into it, frequency and freneticism of breaths starting to calm as he took in his own exhales. 

Remarkable, how quickly the body calms itself in the absence of a significant oxygen supply. 

“I texted Tony,” Steve said. 

Bucky nodded, his hands still holding the bag but his lungs now taking in regular air again. 

“He says we can come over and he’ll look at it,” Steve continued. “Can you stand?” 

Bucky nodded again, though he did need Steve’s help to get to his feet. Tony didn’t live too far from Steve, and it felt nice to be out in the fresh air of night time, but anxiety still niggled into every crevice of Bucky’s brain. 

Mom was already so tired, working so hard to cover Bucky’s medical bills on top of supporting two children and herself. If she had to replace the arm… even the cheap models would have them stretching their pennies to the breaking point. Bucky couldn’t ask his mom and Becca to make anymore sacrifices for him and his stupid wellbeing. 

“Just keep your hands in your pockets,” Steve said as they walked down the street. “No one will see, no one will notice.” 

As it turned out, Steve got to be right about that too.

They arrived on Tony’s doorstep a little before midnight, and Tony answered the door in a floor-length black robe.

“What up, party people?” he greeted. 

“Why do you look like you should be polishing trophies under the watchful eye of Mr. Filch?” Steve asked. 

“Because I party hard,” Tony shrugged and looked down, exposing the forest green lining of his robes. “Also, this thing is warm as hell. Made to withstand the harsh Scottish winters, I assume.”

“Right,” Steve nodded, wary. “Well, if you see the schmuck that said he’d help Bucky with his arm, would you grab him for us? Thanks.”

Tony rolled his eyes and stepped aside, muttering “Assholes” under his breath as Steve pulled Bucky into the apartment with him.  He directed them to the kitchen where, as it would happen, Bruce and, of all people, Pepper Potts sat at the island counter with their computers and textbooks open and notes scattered everywhere. 

Steve chanced a glance at Bucky, who could only shrug. 

“Oh,” Pepper saw them first, blinking her owlish eyes before she greeted, “Hey Steve, hey Bucky.”

Bruce turned to glance at them too and slid his glasses up his nose. 

All they got from him was a nod before he returned to his work. 

Tony smacked his hands together and turned to Bucky, “Okay let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”

Of anyone outside his immediate circle of friends, Pepper Potts was the least threatening person to be witness to this, he supposed. Bucky sighed and pulled his arm from his sweater pocket. He held it out at Tony the best he could, but in the time it had taken for them to get from Steve’s apartment to Tony’s, the shoulder joint had also stopped working. 

Tony let out a low whistle.  “This just happened tonight?” he asked. 

“Uh,” Bucky swallowed, “It’s been giving me trouble for a while now. Sometimes it just spazzes for no reason, or locks up like right now.” 

Tony nodded. “You mind if I get a look at the whole thing?” 

Bucky sighed again, but pushed his sweater off his shoulders and tugged his left sleeve up under his armpit. Tony raked his eyes over the mechanisms with careful consideration. How this actually made sense to him, Bucky would never know. 

“Where’s the release?” Tony asked. 

Bucky shrugged, and Tony’s eyes went wide. 

“Have you never taken this off?” 

“I don’t think it comes off,” Bucky said. “I… no one ever showed me how to take it o--  _ ahh _ !” 

Bucky’s center of gravity shifted as his behemoth of a limb broke free of its anchor. Steve jumped, poised for attack, and Bucky had to reassure, “He’s fine, Steve.” 

“The release is on your shoulder, FYI,” Tony had the look of every disgruntled mechanic on his face. “No wonder this thing is fucked, you wore it down.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Steve interjected. “He didn’t know.”

“It’s common sense,” Tony enunciated at Steve. “You turn off your electronics, you take your car in for an oil change, you take out your contacts, take off your glasses. The fact that no one showed him how to take this off or even  _ mentioned _ it to him… honestly, you should sue.”

“Can you fix it?” Bucky asked. 

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Tony posed back. 

Bruce finally piped up, “Depends on the bear, I guess.”

Tony rolled his eyes as Pepper chuckled to herself and said, “Yes, I can fix it.” 

So, while Tony went and grabbed his tools, Steve and Bucky, now down an arm and feeling rather off balance, pulled up a couple of bar stools and joined Bruce and Pepper at the island counter. Bruce tried to keep up the illusion of studying, but Pepper had given up, now much more concerned with what was going on with Bucky. 

“I know you’re probably tired of hearing it, but I’m really sorry about what happened,” she said. “All of it. It’s… unbelievable.”

“Well, it happened, so,” Bucky shrugged. “Better believe it.” 

“No, I know,” Pepper nodded, her eyes going big in that same way Steve’s did when he unintentionally misstepped. 

“Thanks, though,” Bucky told her, because now his life was going to be full of reassuring people who felt sorry for him. At Steve’s pointed glare, though, Bucky sighed and admitted, “I’m kinda not doing great with the whole ‘everyone knowing’ thing.”

Pepper hummed, then asked, “Do you want anything to drink? Some tea, maybe? Bruce, where does Tony keep the tea?”

“Starks are freaks of nature who subsist entirely on black coffee and what I assume are the souls of the innocent,” Bruce said without looking up. “But  _ my _ tea stash is in that second cupboard to the left of the fridge.”

Pepper stood and went to the indicated cabinet, where there sat more boxes and tins of tea than Bucky would have thought possible.

“Dear lord,” Pepper marveled. 

“I know,” Tony said as he reentered the kitchen, tools in tow. “The worst part is that he drinks  _ all  _ of it. I can’t get rid of any because he’d fucking know.”

He didn’t sit, but stood at the counter beside Bucky so that he could see everything Tony did to it. Bucky couldn’t even pretend to understand what he was doing, but he trusted Tony--

Oh, god. He  _ trusted  _ Tony.

“Well, name a tea and I’ll make you some, I guess,” Pepper said, only for Bruce to roll his eyes and stand. 

“I’ll make it,” he said. “You’ll burn the leaves again.”

“Huh,” Pepper’s brow furrowed as he pushed past her. “That was a weird way to say ‘thank you for making a pot of tea, Pepper’.” 

Bruce made a grunt, but didn’t say what he undoubtedly wanted to say. Pepper took it as a compromised victory, it seemed, and sat back at her computer. 

“Working on that AP Lit test?” Steve asked. Damn it, how was he so good at that? How the hell did someone just  _ talk _ to people and have it work?

“No, actually,” Pepper’s eyes fixed on her screen. “Winter formal stuff… Are you guys gonna come? I mean, Steve has to, since it’s a school event, but--”

“Aw, c’mon,” Steve groaned. “I don’t wanna do that.”

“That’s too bad,” Pepper shrugged and looked up at them. “You should bring Bucky with you. We don’t have a rule that says it’s only boy-girl couples at dances.”

“What about boy-boy-girl?” 

The question floated up into the air, not by Tony, not by Steve or Bucky, but by Bruce. 

“Well, by definition then it’s not a ‘couple’,” Tony replied almost instantly, impervious to the way everyone else held their breath in the room. Only when he looked up did he seem to notice the sudden tension. “Uh-oh, what’d I say?”

It was a delicate situation that would really have benefitted from Bucky and Steve not being there, but fuck it. Bucky still felt like shit about the therapy stuff and he didn’t have an arm. 

“Bruce wants to go to winter formal with you and Pepper,” Bucky said. When Bruce whipped around to stare daggers at him, Bucky raised his eyebrows and asked, “Oh, I’m sorry, is that not what you’re asking?” 

“Aw, Brucey,” Tony teased, and Bruce rolled his eyes. “You wanna be my date to the dance? That’s sweet.”

“If Steve’s going, then Bucky’s going,” he explained, “Clint actually likes school dances and Nat will go because Clint’s going, and as much as I like Thor, I’m not gonna ask him.”

“Mm, too straight?” Tony nodded knowingly. 

“Too tall,” Bruce corrected, now looking at the floor. 

Bucky could’ve cut the following silence with a butter knife. Without a dog in this fight, Steve and Bucky were mere spectators to one of the most awkward triads in history trying to work out yet another facet of their relationship. 

“Of course we can all go,” Pepper finally said. “If that’s all right with Tony, at least. I assume so.”

Wordlessly, Tony nodded. 

Pepper smiled, “Then good. We can go together. Saves me the effort of keeping you entertained all night.”

She gave Bruce a wink and went back to her work. Bruce busied himself with making Bucky a cup of tea, though anyone could’ve seen that smile on his lips from a mile away. Unsurprisingly, it was Tony who couldn’t seem to wrap his head around what had just happened. 

“Both of you wanna go with me?” he asked. 

“The three of us,” Pepper corrected. “It’s the three of us, remember? We’ll go together.” 

Tony nodded, “Right, right.”

He looked down at Bucky’s arm, flayed open like a mechanical frog on dissection day, and said, “Your pressure sensors could use an upgrade… you want me to upgrade them? It might help reduce the amount of stress you’re putting on it.”

Bucky blinked, but didn’t have time to respond.

“You know what?” Tony decided, “I’m gonna mod the hell out of this thing for you. It’s gonna be sweet. I should get some more tools.”

Tony exited the room with more haste than necessary, but Bucky couldn’t see past the overwhelming sense of gratitude filling his chest. 

“Thank you,” Bucky called after him. 

“I’m not crying, God!” Tony yelled back. 

Bruce rolled his eyes again; Pepper shook her head. 

And for a single moment amid the shitstorm that was his life, Bucky felt everything in the universe fall into line. 

**oo**

These days, when Bucky woke up in a strange bed, he woke up in a tangle of Steve’s limbs and Steve’s bed sheets, in Steve’s room in Steve’s apartment. 

That was only partially the case today, as these limbs were definitely Steve’s, but the sheets, the room, the apartment were all far too stale to be Steve’s.

No, today Bucky woke in what he learned the previous evening was one of two guest rooms in the Stark home, with a boyfriend spooned snugly behind him and a pretty significant case of morning wood pressing into his rear.  

Not acting on any conscious thought, Bucky grinded his ass back against Steve’s semi-erection and let out a sigh. It felt kinda nice, actually. 

Before everything went to shit and gave him a reason not to, Bucky had always wanted to try this part of sex. He’d once had elaborate fantasies that looked like so much of the porn that he watched: extended daydreams of being held down and fucked until he couldn’t even remember his name. When that fantasy turned into a living nightmare, Bucky had assumed it was something he would never want again. Even when Steve came back, when it was Steve touching and kissing and stroking over Bucky’s skin, the thought of reliving that night with Rumlow stuck in his brain and left him petrified. 

Steve wasn’t Rumlow, though, and what Rumlow did to him wasn’t really sex. A sexual act, maybe, but you had sex to feel good, because it was fun and you liked doing it; Rumlow did what he did because he wanted to hurt Bucky, to show Bucky that he  _ could _ . 

Steve’s grip tightened around Bucky’s waist, while the rest of him shifted from fast asleep to partially awake. Warm breaths puffed against the small hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck, and Bucky sighed and pressed back. 

“Mm, g’morning,” Steve rumbled against Bucky’s skin. 

“Hey,” Bucky yawned back. “You’re up for real now.” 

Steve chuckled, embarrassed, “Sorry. It’s a--don’t worry, it’ll go down. It’s not you.”

“Aw, come on, you’re gonna hurt my feelings,” Bucky said… teased? Yes, teased, because he rolled his eyes as Steve attempted to backpedal and reassured, “I’m fucking with you, man.”

“Oh,” Steve’s forehead thudded softly against Bucky’s neck, “Duh.” 

Silence fell over them, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel like he was standing on a razor’s edge. He looked down at Steve’s hand and, deciding this would all be okay, threaded his fingers through Steve’s. He squeezed, brought their hands to his lips and kissed Steve’s fingers one by one. 

“Buck…” Steve uttered, seemingly without any intention other than to feel Bucky’s name on his tongue. Bucky knew what was about to happen (if Steve wanted it to, of course), and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t borderline terrifying, but it would also be false to say he didn’t want it to. Of anyone, Steve would take care of him. 

Bucky craned his head back and, as best as he could, planted a kiss on Steve’s lips. It wasn’t until then, when Bucky tried to reach back with his other hand and press Steve closer to him, that he realized: Tony still had his prosthetic. 

“Shit,” he muttered. 

“What?” Steve asked. “What happened? What’s wrong?” 

“Nah, just down an arm is all,” Bucky shook his head and rolled out of Steve’s embrace. He sat up and combed his fingers through his hair, suddenly feeling a little more self-conscious. Man, what the hell was wrong with him? This was  _ Steve _ . 

“Hey, you know we don’t --”

Bucky held up a hand, and Steve fell silent. Bucky then took a breath, steeled himself, and looked right into Steve’s stupid face. 

“I know we don’t  _ have  _ to,” he said. “We’ve already done it, though.” 

“So?” Steve shrugged a shoulder. “Doing something once doesn’t mean you need to keep doing it when you don’t want to.”

Bucky hung his head. Motherfucking Steven Grant Rogers and his stupidly earnest  _ everything _ . Trying to keep his cool, Bucky replied, “Okay,  _ fine _ . But my dick isn’t hard because I think it has to be; it’s hard because I woke up with your boner poking me in the ass and it felt kinda nice.”

Steve blinked, “Oh.”

“Exactly,” Bucky nodded. He scooted back toward Steve until he was close enough to kiss him again. When they pulled apart, Bucky couldn’t help the swell of pride he felt at the dazed look on Steve’s face. So he did it again, and again, and then one more time after that, until both he and Steve were so breathless that they had to lie back down. 

Steve held him steady as they shifted, which Bucky only half resented. Though off his center of gravity may have been, Bucky didn’t want the help; he took the help, but only because he needed it and Steve was pretending it was as normal as normal could be. Bucky decided to worry about it later, because Steve was back to kissing him now and it was very hard to think when that was happening. All he could concentrate on was letting his mouth drop open so his tongue could slide against Steve’s. 

That wasn’t to say that Steve was ready to get on with anything, though. Things had leveled out. Steve had woken up and Bucky had taken his step back, and it seemed Steve was completely content to kiss the life out of Bucky’s lungs before so much as popping the button on his jeans. 

He was only a little embarrassed at the noise he made when Steve’s lips grazed the soft, barely-there hairs just under his earlobe. Steve  _ had  _ to know how hot he was getting, because the shithead fucking chuckled when Bucky wriggled against him.

“You’re killin’ me here, Rogers,” Bucky huffed, not sounding nearly as intimidating as he’d hoped he might. 

Steve smiled (that little bastard) and nosed at that same spot, stating, “That’s been my plan all along: find your sweet spots and get you feeling so good you just fall down dead. Damn you and your meddling.”

“Oh, my sweet spot, huh?” Bucky teased back. “Yeah, you’re gonna neck me to death.” 

Steve shook his head and pulled back so he could get a full view of Bucky’s face, then revealed, “That’s not the only one you’ve got, pal.” 

“You don’t say,” Bucky couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

“I mean, apart from the obvious ones,” Steve sat back, his weight now resting warm and firm on Bucky’s erection. “There’s that one, but you’ve also got this one--” 

Steve snaked his fingers up under Bucky’s t-shirt and scraped his fingernails lightly down his flank. Warmth bloomed in Bucky’s core as he shivered. Whatever came next had Bucky’s full and complete blessing. 

“-- and here--”

Steve leaned back (Bucky groaned, because  _ this asshole knew exactly what he was doing and he was unrepentant in his sexy tomfoolery) _ and hooked a finger under the back of Bucky’s left knee. 

“Honestly,” Bucky breathed, “You could probably drain my sinuses right now and I’d get hot for you. My whole deal’s a sweet spot right now.” 

Bucky vaguely gestured to the entirety of himself, and Steve laughed. 

“Good to know,” he said and leaned back down to kiss Bucky again. 

“‘Kay, seriously,” Bucky muttered when he pulled away. “I’ll actually have an aneurism if you keep teasing me like this.”

“I’m not teasing, how very dare you,” Steve jested back, though he did shift so his weight was no longer sitting on Bucky’s hard-on. Instead, he replaced his body with his fingers and got the fly of Bucky’s jeans open in what felt like record time. 

Which was of course when it occurred to Bucky, “Shit. Condoms? … and lube! Damn it!” 

“Man, settle down,” Steve spread out one of his large hands on Bucky’s lower belly. With his other, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a condom and a few sampler packets of lube. 

“Oh,” Bucky blinked.

“Yeah,” Steve said, a little pink in the ears. “And you’re still sure? Like, sure-sure?” 

“Yes!” 

“Okay, jeez!” Steve laughed. “Just checking.”  

Bucky meant to shoot back something sarcastic and biting, but Steve headed him off with a kiss, and Bucky allowed himself to get swept up in Steve once more. Steve’s hand moved from his belly to the skin just under his boxers, still teasing the promise of relief with those barely-there touches. 

In fact, Bucky got so swept up in the sensations that he hadn’t noticed Steve shift lower on the bed. All he felt was a hand on his cock and then the searing hot slide of a mouth immediately after. Bucky slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound he made, because chaste it was not. And you know what? Neither was the sound that Steve made when his throat opened up and he relaxed into a rhythm. 

Ecstasy. It was pure ecstasy and Bucky let Steve know it, too. With every flick of the wrist and twist of the tongue -- even when Steve paused to lube up and slip a finger inside him -- Bucky let Steve know just how good it felt, how good he was, not just at giving head or fingering him, but at taking care of him. Steve lapped it all up, preened under the praise and redoubled his already stellar efforts.

Bucky came with his hand wrapped up in the guest bed sheets, rolling into the wet heat as Steve worked him right up into the stratosphere.  

He came back down to a tuft of blonde hair sitting on his stomach and an ear pressed to his skin. 

“My heart’s in my chest,” Bucky panted. “And I think it’s still beating, so no need to check.”

Steve glanced up at him, and Bucky swallowed. He’d only seen that look on Steve’s face maybe twice, that one that made him look like a debauched altar boy who’d just lost a battle against pride and lust. His fingers, three of them, still moved inside Bucky, like he was waiting for some sort of approval before he moved on. 

“You’re gonna fuck me,” Bucky grinned, dazed. “Right? That’s still the plan, isn’t it?” 

Steve broke out into a grin and made this goofy laugh before he nodded and pulled his fingers back. While he fumbled for the condom, Bucky worked on getting his jeans the rest of the way off, then did the same for Steve. 

They peeled their shirts off, Bucky doing so before he remembered that he still wasn’t wearing his arm. Steve stared, but for some reason Bucky didn’t mind as much as he thought he might. 

When it didn’t let up, though, Bucky asked, “You gonna ask it to dance or somethin’?” 

Steve shook himself out of his trance at that and muttered, “Sorry.” 

“You can look at it,” Bucky said. “Better than not looking at it. And I figure you’re not gonna run screaming the other way at this point, right?” 

“Hell no,” Steve shook his head and brought Bucky into another kiss. Steve guided Bucky back on the bed, laid him out and splayed his legs open, and Bucky, still dopey with orgasm brain, willingly followed. And when Steve got caught up in kissing again, Bucky went right along with that too. 

“Ready?” Steve whispered, like this was just between the two of them, independent of the universe. 

Bucky liked that. 

He nodded, and nearly melted when Steve kissed him again. 

Steve barely got the head of his cock past Bucky’s rim before he made him stop, though, and Steve immediately went tense.  

“Shit, did I hurt you?” he asked. 

Bucky shook his head, “Nah, but just gimme a sec.” 

It didn’t  _ hurt, _ really, but it was so overwhelming a sensation that Bucky needed a moment to adjust. Steve kissed his forehead while he waited, never once giving Bucky the impression that he would move until Bucky was ready. And if Bucky wanted him to stop, Steve would pull out right then and they could go grab some coffee and a scone and be done with it. 

“Okay,” Bucky breathed. “Okay, you’re good.” 

Steve nodded and pushed the rest of the way inside Bucky. He was full, so full, but god it felt  _ good _ . What was more, he could see how good it made Steve feel, could see his quickening pulse in his neck and hear how his breath fell out of sync with his body. Bucky reached up and pushed back Steve’s sweat-darkened hair, and kissed the end of his long, crooked nose. 

“How y’feel, Stevie?” he asked. Steve moaned in response and rolled his hips, punching the breath out of Bucky with each and every thrust he made. Fuck, he may not ever let Steve bottom again if this was how it was going to be. They were sandwiched together all hot and sweaty and sticking to each other and the sheets, but hell if it wasn’t just shy of goddamn divine. 

Steve came out of nowhere, so lost in himself that he couldn’t even issue a warning. He just hid his face in Bucky’s shoulder and rode it out, emptying into the condom as he told Bucky how  _ damn beautiful _ he was. 

And, wouldn’t you know it, Bucky was just fucked out enough to believe it. 

They stayed like that for a little while, trading kisses and nosing at one another’s faces and jaws and necks until they decided that they were more hungry than lazy and decided to get dressed again. They nudged each other and got caught up in fits of giggles, and when they finally made it out of the room, Bucky was riding so high that he wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders from behind and attempted to climb the man like a damn tree.

“I let you fuck me in the ass,” he said as Steve paused to help him up, “The least you can do is piggyback me to the kitchen.”

“Uh, if I recall, I gave you a pretty stellar blowjob,” Steve reminded him. 

Bucky buried his nose in Steve’s hair and muttered, “Fine. I still want a piggyback ride, though.”

“Can do, buddy-boy,” Steve grinned. 

The grin lasted all of two seconds before they got to the kitchen and found Bruce and Tony sitting at the kitchen island, both of them in pajamas and looking like they expected answers. 

“Uh,” was all Steve could manage. 

“Look,” Tony held up a hand, “I don’t mind if you fuck in my house, but good lord, I didn’t think I’d have to ask you to be courteous and keep it down.” 

He then stood and brandished, seemingly out of nowhere, Bucky’s prosthetic. It looked almost brand new, so shiny and clean that Bucky barely recognized it as his own.  

“Got it all fixed up for you, by the way,” Tony continued, “And everyone can thank me for not putting in vibrating fingers because that’s the last thing we need.”

“You can do that?” Bucky asked as Steve slid him back down to the floor. 

“Maybe for your birthday, man, settle down,” Tony said and snapped his fingers at Bucky’s empty left sleeve. “Let’s get this baby back on you. I’d hate for you to have to bang your beau one armed again.” 

“Actually wasn’t the worst,” Bucky shrugged as he pulled up his sleeve. Tony lined up the mechanisms and fiddled with a few things (minor adjustments, he called them) but then there was a click and Bucky felt--

“Wait,” he frowned. “I felt that.” 

“Yeah, you’re supposed to with these anchors,” Tony indicated. “Think of this arm as a Gameboy Color cartridge and this anchor is… whatever the newest Gameboy system is.” 

“Do the old cartridges work in the newer systems?” Bruce asked. 

“Whatever,” Tony stuck up his hand once again to silence him. “The anchor is the important part, since that’s the part that you hook up to the nerves. It’s a matter then of matching pressure sensors with the correct…” 

Tony looked around at the three blank faces staring back at him, and said, “You guys don’t care about that part, do you?” 

Bucky, Steve, and Bruce all shook their heads. 

“Great,” Tony nodded and took a step back. “Point is, I did it up real nice for you. Shouldn’t give you much more grief as long as you  _ take it off every night _ .”

Bucky nodded and raised his arm to test it out. 

“Is it… lighter?” he asked. 

“Damn straight, it is,” Tony nodded. “We had some titanium parts in storage. Shouldn’t weigh you down as much now.”

Like a set of scales, Bucky felt himself tip back into balance. He hadn’t realized how heavy the arm had been until it wasn’t anymore. He looked over at Steve and Bruce, who stood like they didn’t know the reaction they were meant to have, and demonstrated his range of motion. 

“Look ma, no hands,” Bucky grinned.

Steve rolled his eyes as Bruce let out a resounding, ‘boo’. 

“You’re not allowed near Barton anymore,” said Bruce. 

Bucky snorted and reached out for Steve’s hand. Whatever magic Tony had worked on the pressure sensors was incredible. He could almost feel the warmth of Steve’s hand, could feel Steve’s fingers squeeze around his. 

“Tony, this is incredible,” Bucky turned back toward him. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” Tony agreed. 

Bucky lurched forward and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing tight,hoping that Tony would understand the sheer volume of Bucky’s gratitude. 

Tony didn’t reply, but did clear his throat and pat him on the back. Hell, coming from Tony, it was the most sincere reply Bucky could’ve hoped for. 

Wait ‘til his mom saw this. 


	14. Chapter 14

Monday morning came too soon, as so often was the case. While Steve wasn’t due to return to the BAHS campus until tomorrow, Bucky got to hurtle forward into the week like he’d been launched off a springboard. The landing place? The thorny thicket of misery that was high school. 

His walk with Becca wasn’t anything out of the norm, but that all ended the moment they stepped inside the building. Bucky always thought this kind of thing only happened in movies, that you walk into a place where everyone is talking about you and everyone just  _ stops _ and stares directly at you, like that’s going to curb your suspicions. 

God, people were morons. 

“What the hell are you all looking at!” Becca barked at a knot of sophomores by the stairwell. “Don’t you people have better things to do?” 

“Come on, you know they don’t.”

Wade Wilson strode up beside Bucky and Becca, hands stuffed in his sweater pockets and his acne-scarred face partially obscured by his hood. He didn’t have his regular devil-may-care joviality about him; rather, he regarded the people around Bucky and Becca like he would a pack of wild dogs. 

“I suggest you keep your head up and keep walking,” Wade then said, somehow not moving his lips as he did. He leaned in close to Bucky and warned, “They can smell fear, dude, just walk.”

So Bucky did, allowing Wade to steer both him and Becca away from the more densely populated parts of the school. Everyone fell silent when they caught sight of Bucky. People’s eyes followed him from the moment they saw him until the moment they couldn’t, nobody talking or even breathing too loudly in his presence. For what it was worth, Wade’s presence did help to quell his rapidly increasing anxiety a little bit, and as soon as they got to where he was taking them, Bucky knew why. 

Out behind the school building, way back behind the gym sat Clint, Tony, and Bruce, all huddled together and sharing a joint about the size of Becca’s pinky finger. 

“Fellas, I got a delivery for you,” Wade chirped. Bruce whipped around faster than anyone, and heaved a sigh. 

“Scared the shit outta me,” he clutched his chest. 

“Everyone knows,” was all Bucky could say back. Clint and Bruce both went still, while Tony sucked in a hit so large that the end of the joint went magma red. 

“Yep, you know how the rumor mill is,” Wade flipped down his hood and turned his eye on Becca. He stuck out his hand, “Wade Wilson, nice to meet you.”

“She’s a freshman,” Bruce warned. 

“So was I once,” Wade placed a pseudo-offended hand over his chest. “We all make mistakes”

Clint narrowed his eyes and asked, “Does that mean you’re the mistake in that case?”

“You tell me, you bendy son of a gun,” Wade nodded at Clint and winked an eye. 

“Not helpful,” Bruce told everyone, but as things always tended to go, only Tony paid attention. He held out the joint toward Bucky and asked, “You want?” 

“God, yes,” Bucky couldn’t have hopped on that offer sooner.

“All right,” said Wade, “If you’re looking for ‘helpful’ then I’d better biggity-boing-boing bounce. Later, taters.” 

Bucky let out a plume of smoke and turned to Wade. “Thank you,” he said. “Really. I--that coulda gone south real bad, but you helped.”

Wade paused before he put his hood back up, only for a moment before he cleared his throat and said, “No problem, buddy. Gotta look out for our own.” 

And with that he was off. 

Were Steve back today, this all would have been a different story. He could’ve hacked it because Steve made just about everything bearable. Steve even made sitting through another viewing of Steel Magnolias with Becca and mom into a tolerable affair. 

“Bucky!” Becca chastised as Bucky let out another puff of smoke into the chilly air just above them. 

“I’m feeling a lot of judgment right now,” he told her. “The least you could do is let me deal with it in the best way presently available.”

“You’ve done it before?” her eyebrows went up, like Bucky had just lifted his mask and revealed himself to be Old Man Jenkins all along. 

“A lot of times, Becs,” Bucky passed the joint along to Bruce. “It’s fine.” 

“Wait, wait,” Bruce held up a hand, “Back to the whole everyone knowing thing. Are you okay?” 

“What the fuck do you think?” Bucky snipped before he could help himself, then deflated. “Sorry, I’m just… not into today already. I want to go back to bed.”

“Preaching to the converted, my guy,” Clint nodded and put an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky almost pushed him away, but Clint radiated heat almost like Steve did and, almost instinctively, Bucky curled into him like he would sunshine on the coldest day of the year. A hand settled up in his hair a second later and Bucky just stood there, holding onto Clint for all the guy was worth. 

“You’re okay, buddy,” Clint reassured him. “I know that sounds like bullshit, but I promise it’s not.”

“How?” Bucky mumbled into his shoulder. 

“Ah, that I do not know,” Clint told him. “If I could predict the future, I would be on my own private island right now.”

Bucky chuckled. Slowly but surely, Tony and Bruce, Wade and Becca, they all fell to the rear of Bucky’s attention. He concentrated on the rise and fall of Clint’s chest, the smell of his deodorant and the musky smoke on his clothes. The high wasn’t so much of a high when it came on, mostly because Bucky didn’t smoke enough to incapacitate him, but it did level him out substantially. 

When Bucky finally pulled back, he turned to Tony and Bruce and looped both arms around each of them and brought them in close. 

“Oh, boy,” Tony muttered, “You’ve got the fucking Ebenezer Scrooge of physical affection over there.” 

As though compelled to prove Tony wrong at every turn, Bruce edged Tony out of the embrace and enveloped Bucky in what could only properly be described as a bear hug.

“Oh, come on!” Tony shouted. “I suck your dick and I gotta harangue you into a fucking reach-around, but suddenly this asshole gets the hug of his life?”

“Yup,” Bruce replied. Bucky hadn’t really been this close to Bruce before, and it was very obvious from his entire carriage that his body had little to no muscle memory of hugs. 

At Tony’s sourpuss, Bucky took in a breath and hummed, “That’s a good hug right here.”

Bruce whispered so only Bucky could hear, “If I didn’t think your boyfriend would pummel the shit out of me, I’d kiss you right now.”

Bucky smirked. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “That’d piss him off?”

“He’d probably spontaneously combust out of anger,” Bruce replied. 

As Bucky and Bruce separated, two more bodies rounded the corner of the gym building. Thor, in short sleeves and a pair of jeans, gestured to them and told Natasha, “Did I not say this was where they would be?” 

“I didn’t say they wouldn’t be,” Natasha raised her eyebrow at him before she turned her sights on Bucky. “Mr. Popularity, nice to see you.”

“If by ‘popularity’ you mean everyone staring at him like he’s some kind of freak, then yeah,” Becca finally piped back up. 

“I mean, I am kind of a freak,” Bucky shrugged just as Tony shouted at Natasha, “Bruce hugged Bucky but won’t hug me!” 

As if on cue, Bruce slid his arm around Tony’s shoulders and nuzzled the side of his face…

… for all of five seconds before he turned the embrace into a headlock, and the two of them went toppling to the floor. Becca, fed up, threw her arms high in the air and looked skyward. “Has  _ everyone _ gone crazy?” she demanded. 

Natasha, bless her, folded her arms over her chest and told Becca, “We’re all bothered by the whole damn thing, Becca; Bucky is our friend.”

She gestured to the other guys, all four of them now part of the pile on the ground. Clint was trying to pull Tony away from Bruce, while Thor tried to do the same with Bruce; Tony and Bruce, so dedicated to wrestling one another, didn’t seem to notice and kept trying to pin one another. 

“Wow,” Becca crossed her arms over her chest. Natasha sighed.

“Can you guys not be weird for one second?” she asked. 

“That’s gonna be a big negatory,” Clint grunted and reached out for Bucky. “Help, for fuck’s sake.” 

Oddly enough, these weirdos just being themselves brought a profound sense of peace to Bucky’s mind. It made him think less about what awaited him back in the school building and helped him remember what was important. 

That was why, when Clint grabbed his hand and pulled him down into the dogpile, Bucky couldn’t even be mad. All he could do was laugh as Nat and Becca watched this admittedly idiotic situation escalate. 

“Wow, this is very Greek,” Natasha said. 

“We’re just  _ wrastlin’ _ !” Clint called to her. 

“I tried to stop this,” Thor pointed out, almost wheezing. He somehow ended up at the bottom of the pile, probably because he was a slab of solid muscle. To him this was probably like having four toddlers crawling all over his massive frame. 

Bucky looked back to Nat, who now had her phone out and was clearly snapping a picture. 

“What’s that for?” he asked. 

“I’m telling Steve he’s missing the orgy,” she replied without looking up. “Try not to look like you’re having too much fun.” 

Bucky cackled, and one by one each of them detangled from the other. Clint’s blonde hair went in every direction, Bruce’s glasses had gone askew. Thor’s entire front was wet with melted ice and Tony, unsurprisingly, was sporting the very beginnings of an erection. 

“Oh, okay,” he threw up his hands when everyone had similar reactions of outrage. “I am an American and I will get a boner in a pile of dudes if I goddamn well please.” 

Bucky looked to Becca, who, though skeptical, seemed to understand that this was exactly what Bucky had needed. She shook her head and adjusted her backpack on her shoulder. 

“Well, if you need to kill anyone, just remember that we both watched those knife throwing videos together,” Becca said. “You’ve already been through enough without having to add murder to the list.” 

Natasha, without a change in expression or tone of voice, told Becca, “I’m adopting you. Your mom has no say.”

Bucky snorted as Becca told her, “Good luck with that. Later, weirdos.” 

Bucky’s face split into a grin from ear to ear. He’d take the weirdos over anyone else inside that building any damn day of the week. 

**oo**

_ “Brock Rumlow hooked up with Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers got pissed. That’s why neither of them are here anymore.” _

_ “I mean, it technically wasn’t cheating since it happened last year. What’s Rogers’ problem?” _

Bucky heard this conversation in varying forms several times between the first bell and lunchtime. No matter who was talking, though, one thing remained constant: 

_ “Wait, Brock Rumlow is gay?” _

Bucky had been totally content to just sit through it, to turn off his ears and just wait for the hours to roll by. He’d get to go home, get to nap, maybe eat a snack, but no. No, Bucky’s brain just  _  had _ to be working. Rather than play Six Degrees of any given actor in his head, or hum the entirety of the American Idiot album under his breath, Bucky got to relive the worst night of his life through every incorrect account of what happened. He texted Steve as much, and the reply came through right at the beginning of lunch period:

_ ‘WHO IN HAPPY HELL GIVES A BAKER’S FUCK IF BROCK RUMLOW IS GAYER THAN PETER PAN IN A PAIR OF ICE SKATES? THE GUY’S A FUCKING RAPIST.’ _

Bucky hated to admit it, but he felt kind of vindicated by Steve’s anger on his behalf. It was petty, but fuck it. If Bucky couldn’t be petty about the guy who’d raped him, then what the hell could he be petty about? 

“It’s not petty,” Natasha insisted as they and their friends sat down at their usual table. “Petty means that what happened isn’t important. What that rapist piece of shit did in no way qualifies as unimportant.” 

“That’s true,” Thor agreed, already having made a sizeable dent in his enormous lunch. “My brother is the crown prince of pettiness, and I can assure you that your reaction is not rooted in petty anger.”

“That’s true, Loki’s got a petty streak a mile wide,” Nat said. 

“Once,” Thor swallowed a bite of his second sandwich. “I used the last of the milk in my cereal and Loki retaliated by letting the air out of my bicycle tires.”

“Okay, but kids do lots of petty shit,” Bruce posed. 

“It was last year,” Thor told him, at which Bruce sucked his teeth and gave a mild,  _ “ _ yikes _ ”. _

“I just,” Bucky began without an end in mind. He mulled it over for a moment while everyone picked at their lunches, then concluded, “I just want to forget about it and now it’s out I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

“Mm,” Tony paused his Chex Mix demolition, “I don’t recommend that. Recipe for disaster.”

“How would you know?” Bruce asked. 

Everyone looked at Tony, whose eyes went big as he shrugged. 

“Am I wrong?” he asked. 

Bucky sighed and buried his face in his flesh hand. 

“No, you’re not,” he said. “People just keep talking out of their asses and I’m fucking sick of it.” 

Just then, a group of seniors passed their table. Their conversation was the same as everybody else’s had been that day, with the added bonus of a girl saying, “I mean, at least he got to sleep with Brock Rumlow. Apparently that’s more than any of us will get.”

Bucky’s cheeks burned. No, it was his whole face.... Actually, it was his entire upper body, a heat so intense that Bucky figured a dragon may as well have been breathing down his neck. Sweat beaded almost instantly on his forehead and at the base of his skull. The edges of his vision went wonky. 

And then he laughed. 

Why?

This wasn’t funny, but he couldn’t stop laughing. His friends didn’t dare make a sound, and soon the people around them fell silent too. Ten seconds later, the only sound ringing through the cafeteria was the empty, mirthless laughter bouncing off the cold linoleum and walls around them. 

“Bucky, what the hell?” only Clint dared ask. 

As though it was the only response, Bucky rose to his feet and climbed up onto the table. 

“Hey, watch the food, asshole,” Tony pulled his bag of snacks closer to his body. Bruce smacked him on the arm. 

Bucky didn’t give two halves of a fuck. 

“Let’s get this all out in the open,” he declared. His diaphragm spasmed into action, atrophied from months upon months of depression and timidity, and carried his voice from wall to wall of the cafeteria. 

“Brock Rumlow raped me,” he told the entire congregation of students. When met with a chorus of hisses and gasps and outright disbelief, Bucky threw out his arms at his sides and told them, “That’s what happened. We were drunk, I said ‘no’, he didn’t listen and had sex with me anyway. Y’know,  _ rape _ ?”

He heard Natasha snort, followed quickly by the sound of her hand smacking over her own mouth. Other than that, the room went dead quiet. 

Well, with his audience riveted, he may as well continue. He unzipped his sweater and shrugged it off his shoulders, exposing the shiny plating of his prosthetic. 

“As you can see, the altercation led to me fucking up my arm so hard that it needed to be amputated,” he said. “Along with the arm I also lost my general will to live, which I just recently gained back, thank you all for asking, so listen to me very carefully: Do not ask me about Brock Rumlow. I do not care about Brock Rumlow. He can burn in hell, he can walk free, he could be eaten by a pack of wild dogs. I. Do Not. Give. A Shit. All I want to do is eat my lunch and have two minutes of my life wherein I can forget about what happened. All right? Is that fucking okay with all of you?”

It wasn’t until he paused that he realized he hadn’t been breathing. His head swam, but he managed to catch his balance before things turned catastrophic. While Thor stood to help him off the table, Clint and Tony both applauded. 

“Barnes.” 

Fury was waiting for him as soon as his feet touched the floor.  _ Great _ . He didn’t speak further, but beckoned Bucky forward with a gesture. Nobody said a word, but every set of eyes in that cafeteria bored into him like he was a sideshow attraction. 

Something told him to be embarrassed about the outburst later. 

Bucky followed Fury wordlessly to his office. He didn’t even get to close the door behind him before Fury said, “I’m sending you home for the day.”

“Shit,” Bucky’s eyes slipped shut. 

“Relax, it’s not a suspension,” Fury reassured, “But you gotta know that was incredibly inappropriate.”

Bucky let out a laugh and dropped his bag to the floor. “How do you suggest I handle people implying I was lucky to get Brock Rumlow’s dick?”

Fury’s stone face didn’t move, and it took Bucky a moment to realize that they’d fallen into a staring contest. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Fury finally said, his voice unlike Bucky had ever heard it. “I’ve heard a lot of shit working this job, but that’s a whole other level of fucked up.”

Bucky had never heard a teacher or administrator speak like that before. He wasn’t sure whether he thought it was awesome or if he regarded it as he did, say, walking in on his mother in the shower. 

Bucky’s nose scrunched. 

“You thought about talking to someone?” Fury asked, now busying his hand with filling out a dismissal slip. 

Bucky sighed and flopped down in the chair in front of Fury’s desk. 

“My ma wants me to go to this group at her hospital tonight,” he said. 

Fury nodded, “You gonna go?” 

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Really?” Fury did look up at that. “Because I’m gonna be getting about a hundred phone calls about that outburst of ‘not wanting to talk about it’ upstairs.” 

Bucky pulled his knees up to his chest and thudded his forehead against them. 

“Hey, you do whatever you’re gonna do,” said Fury. “I got into this field ‘cause I wanted to guide young people, not tell ‘em what to do. I will tell you that you’re at a crossroads here, Barnes. Life’s gonna throw a lot at you, some good and some bad. Your responsibility isn’t to dodge the bad and catch the good, no.  It’s your responsibility to get back up when the bad knocks you down and use the good to the best of your advantage when it comes your way.”

He ripped the top sheet off of the carbon paper form and handed the yellow copy to Bucky. 

“Take care of yourself today, Barnes,” said Fury. “We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Bucky glanced down at the form in his hand. 

_ Reason for Dismissal: an effort to help Mr. Barnes retain some semblance of a healthy mental state _

When he looked up, Fury winked his one good eye at him and turned back to his computer monitor. 

**oo**

Steve didn’t ask questions when Bucky turned up at his apartment before school ended. He led Bucky to his bed, got him a glass of water and some toast, and stroked his hair until he dozed off. 

Bucky probably dreamed, He didn’t remember it when he woke up, but it probably happened. He sat up, eyes still bleary from his nap, to see Steve sitting at the foot of the bed with his sketchbook in his lap and a frustrated pinch between his brows. 

“Hey,” Bucky rasped, voice thick with sleep. Steve’s concentration melted away the moment he looked up at Bucky and he smiled. 

“Hey,” Steve said. “How’re you doing?” 

“Okay,” Bucky shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. “How’re you doing?”

“Uh,” Steve glanced down at the sketchbook and grabbed his neck with his left hand. “Trying to work out how I’m gonna draw while my hand heals. I don’t know if you know this, but when I draw with my left hand it looks like a kindergartener got ahold of my sketchbook.” 

Bucky smiled and scooted forward until his kneecaps touched Steve’s. He took the pencil out of Steve’s broken hand, took the sketchbook from his lap, and flipped to a clean page. 

Or, that’s what he’d intended to flip to. 

Steve had said a few times that he felt about his sketchbook the way many people feel about a diary. He didn’t draw his deepest secrets or anything like that, but he had explained that he drew his stream of conscience like many people wrote theirs. 

Sketchy forms filled the pages, each taking the familiar forms of their friends. He’d managed to capture both Bruce and Natasha smiling, to sketch Clint while he knitted and Tony while he tinkered with something, even to catch Thor right in the middle of throwing a football. Bucky flipped through the pages, seeing each of Steve’s friends, east coast and west coast, take form on the paper. 

Then there was Bucky, with whole pages to himself. Smiling, frowning, laughing, staring, sitting, talking with Becca, gesturing at mom. 

“Yeah,” Steve muttered, “You weren’t really supposed to see those. I mean, it’s fine, they’re just not my best, y’know?” 

“You took some liberties there, Stevie,” Bucky remarked, unable to hide his smile. 

“In what way?” Steve asked. 

“You made me way too good-looking,” Bucky told him. 

“Excuse you,” Steve straightened up, “I did no such thing. I drew a perfect likeness of you, buddy.” 

“Okay, well, you’re my boyfriend, so of course you’re gonna doll me up,” Bucky said, smirk still on his lips. 

“I wouldn’t change a damn hair on your head and you know that,” Steve gave him The Look. “I love you, not some version of you I have in my head.”

Bucky’s cheeks burned. 

In response, Steve leaned forward and kissed him. 

A chill ran up Bucky’s spine when they parted and the cool air of the room settled on his lips. He darted out his tongue to wet them, a little dizzy at the taste of Steve, and decided, “I’m gonna draw you. Stay still.”

It took all of a minute and a half to draw a stacked stick figure with a tuft of hair on his head and an incurably optimistic face. He turned it around to show Steve, and delighted in the way Steve’s face broke into a smile. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he said.

“I’m a goddamn delight,” Bucky shot back. 

“So I’ve seen,” Steve grinned and grabbed his phone off of his bedside table. “God bless cell phone camera technology.” 

Oh, no. The morning hit Bucky like a ton of bricks, and he suddenly recalled just why he’d been asleep in Steve’s bed in the first place. 

“Damn it, Clint,” Bucky muttered. 

“It was actually Tony this time,” Steve poked around on his screen until he found what he was looking for. “Actually, Clint sent me one too, but Tony got the whole thing. Clint just sent me the Vine.”

“Aw, man,” Bucky covered his face. He couldn’t see, but could hear his Vine self shout  _ ‘I. Do Not. Give. A Shit.’ _ in a never-ending loop. 

“Inspiring,” Steve grinned broadly. 

“I hate all of you,” Bucky muttered. 

“And I watched the whole thing twice and, uh,” Steve trailed off. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, “And what?” 

Pink spread over Steve’s face and down the rest of his body. He gnawed on his lip for a moment before looking up at Bucky and telling him, “I got kinda turned on. Is that bad?” 

“I guess that depends on what about it turned you on,” Bucky said. 

“Never seen you that angry,” Steve told him. “Not that I think you’re only sexy when you’re angry or anything. I, um… You’re just--”

“Did you pull it because I was yelling at people?” Bucky asked. 

Sheepishly, Steve met Bucky’s eye. 

“Maybe.”

Bucky snorted, but Steve continued, “What do you want from me? I like a little fire in my guy’s belly.” 

It was Bucky’s turn to blush now. “Yeah?” he asked. 

Steve nodded and came forward to pull Bucky into another kiss, and then another and another, each turning more and more heated until they were pulling at one another’s clothes. They didn’t have the patience to go further than trading handjobs, but that worked out in Bucky’s favor as far as time went. 

“Hang on, how late is it?” he asked as Steve swiped a tissue over the mess on his hand. 

Steve paused in his clean-up just long enough to check on his phone, “Five after seven.”

“Shit,” Bucky took his hand back and rolled off of the bed. 

“What?” Steve asked. 

“That meeting at the hospital,” Bucky said as he hopped back into his jeans. “Starts at eight.” 

“You’re gonna go?” Steve perked up. “For real?” 

Bucky nodded and pulled his hoodie back on over his shoulders. Steve still sat on the bed, bottom half totally naked, and Bucky shot him a look, “Are you gonna walk with me?” 

“Yeah! I mean,” Steve cleared his throat, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible, “Sure, if you want me to.”

Five minutes later, they were out the door and on their way to the hospital. It hadn’t snowed in a couple of days, but ice still sat in the shadowy parts of the street. Steve stuck close to Bucky and, at one stoplight, threaded their fingers together. 

Bucky smiled. 

He was holding hands with his boyfriend in broad daylight, on the street. Sure, they were walking to a meeting for teen victims of sexual abuse, but Steve was there with him. Steve wouldn’t have even dreamt of letting Bucky do this alone, unless that’s what Bucky wanted. 

They signed in at the front desk of the hospital, grabbed their visitor badges, and headed for the teen center. 

“We’re a little early,” Bucky said as he and Steve entered the clean waiting room. 

“Better early than late, if you ask me,” Steve told him. He plopped down on a heavily padded chair in the corner and pulled a magazine into his lap. 

“Here for the meeting?” 

Bucky whipped around and stared at the source of the voice.

Sans hoodie, Wade Wilson stood in the doorway that lead back to the classrooms. 

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked. 

“Uh, well,” Wade folded his arms over his chest, “I’ll go into more detail in the meeting, but let’s just say not only did I not ask to be born, but I also never asked for a handsy uncle, so…”

Bucky looked at Steve, who stared gobsmacked at the exchange. Wade caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye and turned to give him a wave, “Heya, Rogers. Really admire the beat down you delivered last week. Inspiring.”

“Th-thanks,” Steve blinked. 

“Don’t worry,” Wade stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him. Like I told him earlier, we look after our own.” 

A monsoon of relief hit Bucky all at once. Wade was--he’d-- _ he knew _ . 

Bucky’s friends had done a good job in looking after him, make no mistake. He would always be grateful, would always love them for what they’d done for him, but Wade… Wade knew what it was like to sit there and stew in your own self-disgust because of the actions of some amoral douchebag. 

Without warning, Bucky threw his arms around Wade and squeezed him tight. 

“Man, you are in a cuddly mood today,” Wade patted him on the shoulder. “Just don’t take me down like you did to Barton this morning.” 

Bucky laughed and pulled away, wiping at a stray tear that had rolled down his cheek. 

“Ready?” Wade clapped him on the shoulder. 

Bucky turned back and looked at Steve, a silent question on his face. Steve just smiled in return and gave him a thumbs up. 

“See you on the other side,” he told Bucky. “I’ll be here.” 

“I know,” Bucky smiled back, heart entirely too full, “Thanks, Steve.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! This is the last official chapter, but I do have an epilogue in the works, so stay tuned.


	15. Epilogue

To her credit, when Pepper Potts threw a party, the girl threw a  _ party _ . 

White fairy lights twinkled from the ceilings, spilled over tables and the backs of chairs; silver streamers and blue crepe paper tangled together on the walls and around the dance floor. Suddenly her obsessive attention to detail and refusal to let any member of student council (Steve included) rest on their laurels over winter break all made sense. Bucky felt like he’d stepped off of the cold Brooklyn streets and into a damn fairytale.

“Do you know how many fucking balloons I had to inflate?” Steve asked, breaking through Bucky’s thoughts and apparently expecting an answer. “Do you?” 

Bucky blinked, but found himself unable to respond. Steve (and Joe) had been on his doorstep only an hour before. While Bucky had whipped the door open with his toothbrush still dangling from his mouth and necktie hopelessly lopsided, Steve was his usual ten out of ten, knockout self. 

In fact, Bucky may have drooled out a wad of toothpaste foam when he first saw Steve that evening. 

“It looks good, though,” Bucky finally managed to say. “You guys killed it.” 

Steve shrugged his shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Like Bucky, he wore a button-down shirt and a neat pair of charcoal slacks. Where Bucky had opted for a necktie, however, Steve had abstained; while Steve wore a matching charcoal suit jacket, Bucky had opted to just roll up his sleeves and deal with anyone who bitched about it accordingly.

“C’mon,” Steve tossed his head toward the refreshment table. “Let’s get some punch and cookies; I’m starving.”

While the banquet hall was by no means packed to the rafters, more than enough people had shown up. Since The Incident  TM , Steve and Bucky had become something of legend among the student body. Groups parted when they passed, whether the two of them were together or alone. People knew that if you messed with Bucky, you did it at your own peril (no matter how many times Steve insisted he would never repeat the behavior), and vice versa. 

So, when Steve pulled Bucky along by the front of his shirt, grinning like an idiot (and stopping for an occasional peck on the lips), it wasn’t exactly surprising that people gave them a wide berth. Sure, it was because no one wanted to be on the wrong side of Steve’s fists, but as long as no one harangued them, that was more than okay with Bucky. 

“Jesus, would you two just get a room already?” 

Tony and Bruce both hovered near the refreshments, Bruce glued to Tony’s side and the both of them looking suspiciously put-together. 

“You didn’t make some Faustian bargain, did you?” Bucky asked, gesturing at Tony’s crisp black-on-black ensemble and Bruce’s smart (wrinkle-free, honest-to-god tucked in) green button down. “For once you don’t look like you’re trying to fight your way out of a robot mosh pit.” 

“You’re one to talk, Steve Austin,” Tony shot back, and Bucky’s eyebrows crunched. 

“... the wrestler?” he asked.

“Oh, for the love-- the Six Million Dollar Man, asshole,” Tony folded his arms over his chest and huffed. When he received nothing but blank stares from Bucky and Steve, he threw up his hands and sent a silent prayer up to… well, up to whatever Tony believed in. Isaac Newton’s ghost, maybe?

“You might wanna brush up on your pop culture, guys,” Tony told them, “Just sayin’.”

“You might wanna start referencing TV shows that didn’t go off the air forty years ago,” Bruce said. 

Tony flipped him off. 

“I actually got that one,” Steve admitted. Under Bucky and Bruce’s respective stares, he shrugged and said, “My dad has the whole series on DVD.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Bruce winced as Tony grabbed Steve by the shoulders and gave him a sincere shake. 

“Thank you,” he said. “You are a brave and decent man and you deserve nothing but the finest.” 

When Tony busted up into a giggle, the pieces fell into place and Bucky could appropriately surmise, “You’re high as balls, aren’t you?” 

“Not ‘as balls’,” Tony explained through a dazed smile. “But yes, we partook in a little pre-dance pot smokage.” 

Which was why Bruce smiled when Tony looped his arm around his shoulders, Bucky guessed.  

“Where’s Pepper?” Steve asked as he filled a small paper plate with cheese cubes and chocolate chip cookies. 

“Making some underclassman in student council cry, probably,” Bruce replied. 

“Oh come on, she’s not that bad,” Steve said and offered Bucky a cookie. Bucky took it with a little salute and stuffed it into his mouth all at once. 

“Charming, Bucky,” came Natasha’s smooth tone. She and Clint now stood beside them, her in a sleek, lacy black dress that ended just above her knees and Clint… Oh boy,  _ Clint _ . 

Purple button down and tight leather pants, boots with a heel and thick smudges of black lining his eyes, and-- “Dude, is that glitter in your hair?” Bucky asked. 

“Damn straight it is,” Clint declared as he moved in time with the Top 40 flooding the banquet hall. “If God’s going to take David Bowie from us, I can at least party on in his memory.”

“In his exact pants from  _ Labyrinth _ ,” Bucky commented. 

As though to make a point, Clint spun on his heels and finished with a theatrical flourish of both middle fingers.

Natasha, seeming to read Bucky’s mind, opened up her bag and tossed him a glittering black cigarette case. Steve’s eyes bugged out as Bucky caught it and clicked open the clasp. There, in two neat rows, sat at least half a dozen pre-rolled joints. 

“The stoner brigade had a feeling you’d need a little help to get through the night,” Natasha explained. “Bruce rolled most of them.” 

“And I helped,” Clint beamed with pride. 

“You’re incredible,” Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and tucked the case away in his pocket for now. He’d wait until later, when he could sneak out and find a quiet moment for himself. Being around a lot of people, socializing for hours on end, actually having fun? It took a lot of energy. As much as Bucky loved his friends and as willing as he’d been to come to the dance with all of them, the activity still wore on him. 

“You really wanna top this year off with smoking pot on campus?” Steve asked. 

“Chill out,  _ dad _ ,” Tony shot back.. 

“Yeah, we’ve done it before,” Clint said, hips still gyrating with the beat of the music. “You were too busy being suspended for fighting on campus. Guess who got in trouble?” 

“Not you?” Steve guessed, at which Clint made a loud ‘ _ ding-ding-ding!’ _ only seconds before grabbing Natasha by the wrist and attempting to spin her around into a dance with him. Unfortunately for Clint, Natasha’s reflexes were too quick, and he wound up with his own arm twisted behind his back and Natasha’s hooked around his throat. 

“Jesus,” Bucky marveled aloud. 

“Yeah, I don’t know what your plan was,” Clint’s voice strained, “but this is really working for me.”

“Kinky,” Tony nodded, approval abundant. 

“Trust me, you don’t know the half of it,” Natasha told them and released her hold on Clint. 

“Hey, I like someone who can throw me around,” Clint croaked as he massaged the redness around his throat. 

“Right,” Tony agreed, “Kinky.”

“I think I came in at the wrong time,” came Pepper’s cautious, mindful tone. She’d done up her strawberry blonde hair in large, soft curls, which perfectly complimented her flowing royal blue dress. 

“Unfortunately yes,” Bruce confirmed and slid his glasses up his nose. He didn’t flinch when Pepper kissed Tony on the cheek, though, and barely even blinked when she did the same to him. In fact, he sort of smiled the same as he had when Tony threw his arm around his shoulder. 

“I trust they’re behaving otherwise?” Pepper turned now to Steve, who had two cheeks full of cheese and crackers and the look of a deer caught in the headlights. 

Around a mouthful he replied, “I guess?” 

“Smooth,” Pepper nodded and placed a hand each on Tony’s and Bruce’s backs. 

“They’re stoned,” Bucky said. 

“Dude!” Tony yelped as Bruce muttered, “Nark,” under his breath. 

“Okay, well that’s entirely unsurprising,” Pepper remarked just as the song playing over the speakers faded out. When the next song began, Clint’s face lit up in recognition after only a few beats. 

“Okay, we’re dancing,” he declared. 

Nat raised her eyebrow, “Who’s this  _ ‘we’  _ to whom you’re referring?” 

“Uh, me, Steve--” 

“No way, man,” Steve shook his head. “In addition to decrepit asthmatic lungs I was also born with two left feet.”:

“Okay,  _ fine,”  _ Clint rolled his eyes. “Bucky and I will dance then.” 

Clint held out a hand and looked at Bucky expectantly. 

“Aw, Clint…” Bucky said, trying to come up with an excuse on the spot that was both believable and inoffensive, but his mind drew a blank. 

“We’ll dance with you,” Pepper grabbed both Tony and Bruce by the collars of their shirts and tugged them toward the dance floor. Without warning, Clint’s hand wrapped around Bucky’s wrist and pulled him in the same direction. 

By the time they made it to the dance floor, Bucky had correctly identified the song as the theme from Flashdance, thanks in large part to Clint’s incredibly over-the-top belting out of  _ ‘WHAT A FEELING!’  _ in time with the music. 

“You raging queer,” Bucky laughed as Clint pulled him in close by his hips. 

He kept singing,  _ “Take your passion, and-- _ c’mon, Bucky you know the words-- _ Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life!” _

Bucky couldn’t keep the stupid grin off of his face when he caught Tony, Pepper, and Bruce dancing out of the corner of his eye. Tony was a predictably cheesy dancer, doing all sorts of sprinkler/running man/lawn mower moves with Pepper, the both of them having the time of their lives, but Bruce? Bucky hadn’t ever seen Bruce move around so much in all the years he’d known of him, much less in the time that they’d been friends. 

“That’s right, Bruce,” Clint broke away from Bucky to join in their larger circle, “Dancing is all in the shoulders, my friends.” 

“No one likes you, Barton,” Bruce clapped back. 

Clint, possibly just to be a shit, backed up against Bruce’s front like a fucking exotic dancer before saying, “I think you’re lying. Also, seriously dude, you dance like one of the Peanuts.”

Bruce pointedly shrugged his shoulders, bobbed his head harder. 

“This is a very unfortunate display of rhythmic bumping and grinding.” 

Bucky’s smile broadened even further when he realized Thor was standing right beside him. Like Steve, he wore a suit jacket over his button-down and champagne colored tie, and also like Steve, the broadness of his chest was really testing the tensile strength of his shirt buttons. 

“Do you dance?” Bucky asked him. 

“I could,” Thor considered. “However, I’m nowhere near in high spirits enough to make a complete fool of myself.” 

“Aw, come on,” Bucky cuffed him on the shoulder. “You got all that athletic grace and shit. Plus, there’s no way you’re worse than them.” 

Bucky and Thor both looked back to their friends, just in time to see Tony ‘making it rain’ imaginary dollar bills. 

“I feel like he’s wealthy enough that he should be doing that with actual money,” said Thor. 

“And how,” Bucky agreed just as a girl came to stand beside Thor. Her mousey brown hair and deep brown eyes offset the pale champagne dress she wore and--oh.

“Uh, hi,” Bucky waved. “I’m Bucky.”

“Ah yes!” Thor’s eyes lit up. “Bucky, this is Jane, my date.”

“Nice to meet you,” she smiled back at Bucky.

“She goes to Franklin,” Thor explained. “She is a double helix.”

“Aren’t we all,” Bucky nodded.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Jane told him. 

“Huh,” Bucky stuffed his hands in his pockets, “Then I’m honestly amazed you’re even talking to me.” 

Thor gave Jane a meaningful look, followed by a very certain, “I told you.” 

“Thor!” Clint called, their dance circle having migrated quite a few feet toward the center of the dance floor. “Come boogie!” 

Bucky cupped a hand around his mouth and called, “I’m disowning you for saying that!” 

“Eat me!” Clint called back. 

Thor was apparently ready to make an ass out of himself, though, as he let Jane pull him onto the dance floor. It seemed Natasha had given up on her fun embargo and had joined the rest of their friends in their revelry. That only left one person out. 

A pair of arms snaked around his waist and-- “ _ Jesus _ !” Bucky jumped at the familiar sensation of Steve’s embrace. 

“No, it’s Steve,” Steve replied, his breath hot against the back of Bucky’s neck. 

“You’re not funny,” Bucky told him. 

“Yeah, I just said that I’m Steve.” 

Bucky turned around to shoot daggers at him. It lasted all of fifteen seconds before Bucky gave into the doofy smile on his boyfriend’s face. 

“You wanna dance?” Steve asked. 

“You hate dancing,” Bucky said. 

“But I love you,” Steve gave his biggest, cheesiest grin yet, and it was all Bucky could do not to strain his ocular muscles when he rolled his eyes.

“You’re a fucking cornball, Rogers,” he said and grabbed both of Steve’s hands in his. He pulled them in close to the rest of their friends, to where Clint and Natasha fit together like two puzzle pieces and Bruce and Pepper both sandwiched Tony between them. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, carefully avoiding the disaster that was Thor attempting to dance with a partner, and rested their foreheads together. 

“Uh, I thought you didn’t dance like this to fast songs,” said Steve as they swayed out of time with the high energy music. Bucky didn’t bother with a reply, opting instead to press his lips against Steve’s. 

“I love you too, dillhole,” Bucky told him when they parted, voice barely loud enough for Steve to hear. He yelped when Steve hauled him up off the floor and spun him around like a ragdoll, but Steve’s excitement, as always, was infectious--so much so that Bucky found himself feeling downright giddy by the time his feet hit the ground again. 

_ Giddy _ . 

If that wasn’t the damndest thing. 

The next song played all the way through with Bucky and Steve half-dancing, half-grinding, their only interruption coming from Wade Wilson, who popped up seemingly out of nowhere to ask, “Hey fellas, I’m looking for Barton, gonna ask if he wants to get handsy in the bathroom.” 

“Well, you got a pulse, so I’m willing to bet Clint’ll be up for just about anything,” said Steve. 

Bucky snorted. Wade must’ve then spotted Clint, because his eyes went giant and his tongue rolled out of his mouth, a red carpet all but beckoning Clint and Natasha to flock to it.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Wade gave them a little salute, “At the very least, I’m off to harvest some prime fap material. Bucky, if I’m not at the meeting on Monday, tell everyone I died a warrior’s death.” 

“Will do,” Bucky said just as Steve gave a salute and a “Yessir.”

The moment Wade disappeared, Steve’s arms tightened around Bucky’s shoulders, bringing him into his unbelievable warmth. “Kind of a lot going on… you okay?” he asked. 

And oddly enough, Bucky managed to say, without the slightest hint of hesitation, “I think so, yeah.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest, biggest, BIGGEST thank you goes out to all of you who kept reading despite my sparse updates toward the end. New job, death in the family, mental health struggles... the point is, a lot was happening but I appreciate you all for being as understanding and awesome as you are. The conception of this fic may have been accidental, but it grew into something I genuinely enjoyed writing. I'm so glad to have shared it with you. :)
> 
> Take care, my loves, and I'll see you next time! <3


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